#i want to get the real version of the knife in scream

[not-your-kitten17]

These are my blunt knives,they are very pretty🥰 you better not fantasize about using them on me.....👀👀👀 (thought if you do, you have to tell me)

Picture under the more incase you dont wanna see knives

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Six: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, NONCON (somno), mask kink (Ghostface), sex toys, knife, spitting, cumplay, nude vids/pics, masturbation, forced oral, forced orgasm, drugging [Be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin is such a good 👻 even without all the stabbing. He’s getting cocky with us. Some bitch tries to flirt.[diary entries from Ani] extremely not proofread. MDNI 18+

Diary Entry: July 12th

I feel alittle bit bad… but not really, for lying to you. I don’t actually have work tonight. It just seemed like the most logical thing to say you know? So… apologies baby, that wasn’t very nice of me.

To make up for the lie I was about to tell you, I slipped a pair of your panties from your laundry basket, you were awfully dazed after I used that little line I stole from one of your books. It was really, really cute how you fawned like that. Those big beautiful doe eyes looking up at me like I’d just told you that you won the lottery.

I guess you kind of did, or at least my version of it. I had a lot planned for you tonight and tomorrow night. You’re getting your reward and then some.

So with your pretty little lacy panties in my pocket I went upstairs and immediately got to work. Now, I know this probably sounds just a smidgen gross but I promise I’ve tried it out on some of my own clothes until I got it right. You won’t even notice.

It’ll be just like your pillow okay? That small, harmless piece of me helps you sleep at night and, well, I want you to feel that secure all the time. No matter where you are. I want you to have a piece of me.

So, you know that strange little extra bit of fabric in the crotch of all your panties? That no one really knows the purpose of? Well I’ve discovered the perfect purpose.

With a small flat paint brush I’m going to dot my cum along the seam on the inside of that pocket.

Like I said, I’ve tried it out. You won’t even notice, it won’t get all crusty and gross like you might think okay? It’ll only be alittle teeny, tiny, bit of it.

So, I’ve tested it on my things, but not yours. I didn’t want to test it on the dirty pairs I’d borrowed from you because well… those are mine and they won’t be going back into your drawer. Ever.

That’s why I snatched up this pair. To test it on the real thing. And when I tell you this is the best idea I’ve had in a while I mean it. It’s perfect. I’ve already got everything set up.

Those dirty panties are really gonna help me out while I pump my cum out into your favorite new coffee mug.

The second you leave for work I’m headed over there to carefully apply my love to every pair of undies you’ve got. I just know how much you enjoy it, I mean you only ever use the pillow I keep fucking, so I’m doing something right… right?

You little freak. Needing my cum in your panties so you can feel safe and comfy even without me there to hold your hand. We’re not quite there yet and that’s okay, because we have these subtle ways of loving each other don’t we?

Date: July 12th

If the little bell above the door chimes *one more time* and it’s not Anakin, you might scream. It’s 7:20, doesn’t he have to clock-in at 8:00ish? What if he didn’t actually mean it? Was he just being nice? Have you read this situation completely wrong? Have you-

**ting-ting-ting**

You could’ve gotten whiplash from the speed at which you swiveled your head toward the entryway. A flood of relief rushed over you when you saw the familiar bright face that belonged to your dreamy eyed neighbor.

“Hey sweetheart.” He said, his voice low and smooth. He didn’t hide the way he drank in your appearance, or at least what was visible behind the counter.

“Anakin!” You squeaked, blush dusting across the bridge of your nose.

“What’s a guy gotta do for a slice of butterscotch pie?” He crooned, hopping up on the red and chrome barstool nearest to you.

“Say please.” You smirked.

“Please princess, may I have a slice of pie?” He grinned.

You produced a pre-cut slice in a small to-go container from the icebox behind the counter. Sliding it across the counter to him with a fork laid across the top, you missed the small frown on his lips when you were startled by the bell again.

“Sorry. I’ll be right back.” You said hurriedly.

You rushed to the booth where an older man, one of your regulars, slid into place. He always ordered the same thing. Coffee and the daily special, so you were back in front of Anakin in no time at all.

“Hi.” You smiled, letting out a rushed breath.

“Hey sweetheart.” He said, his eyes soft and warm. “Tryin’ to get rid of me already?” He teased, tapping the to-go box with the fork.

“What? N-no of you course not.” You shook your head vehemently. “No, I just wasn’t sure if you were coming and I thought-“

“Wait,” he stopped you, plucking the pen that was still tightly gripped in your palm and replacing it with his fingers. “You thought I wasn’t coming?” He asked.

He looked hurt, deeply hurt, at the notion that you would think he would miss a single second of being in your presence. His hand cradled yours in the way that gentleman in movies held the hands of women they fancied, right before they bring their knuckles to their lips for a kiss.

“Well, it’s just- it was later than I thought.” You said anxiously, feeling silly that you’d doubted him, beginning to quickly over explain yourself. “I just know you’ve gotta be at work at 8:00 or something and I was worried you were running late and wouldn’t make it and I was gonna take it home to give you tomorrow or…”

You stopped, seeing a big grin gracing his pretty face.

“Shh, s’alright darlin’.” He chuckled, “take a breath.”

You blushed, how does he always make you so flustered? He must think you need coddling. Maybe that’s why he’s so sweet to you. He’s seen how utterly hopeless you are and he just feels the need to coddle you.

“Sorry.” You said quietly.

“Baby, look up here.” He commanded in a gentle but firm voice, snapping his fingers twice and you immediately met his gaze. “Atta girl.”

“Now listen to me.” He said softly. “Don’t you ever doubt that I will show up for you. Okay? I’m a man of my word, always.”

“Okay.” You nodded, your head practically empty as a dizzy feeling wracked your brain.

“Good.” He smiled. “Now. Tell me how you know what time I go to work.” He smirked.

“What?” You squeaked, not even realizing you’d said that aloud. “Oh my god I’m sorry, I just… just a lucky guess- I mean I see you leave pretty often around that time so I just assumed…”

“Pretty girl, you’ve been creepin’ on me haven’t you?” He teased, his smile only growing as he watched your face pale and reheat within seconds.

“No! No, god no Anakin!” You squealed grabbing both his hands. “Jesus, you must think I’m crazy. It’s- I sit next to my window to read around that time and I’ve just noticed you walk past.”

“Well I’ll make sure I start waving in your direction okay, princess?” He chirped, his face seemed to boast that he was absolutely giddy at this new information.

“I promise I haven’t been- god that sounded so weird I’m sorry.” You whispered, utterly embarrassed by your own admission. He’d never speak to you again.

“Hey, hey, hey.” He chuckled, squeezing both your hands. “I’m just teasing sweetheart. You know that don’t you?”

“Y-yeah.” You nodded, internally trying not to scream at yourself.

“Sorry.” You whispered, pulling your hands away because your palms started to feel clammy.

“Shh. Don’t worry about it.” He said softly. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I just thought it was cute that’s all.” He smiled.

“Cute?” You repeated, your face reddened to the point that you began to feel hives sneaking up your neck.

He shrugged in response, lifting both hands up as well. A little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he leaned over the counter and snatched your order pad from your apron pocket.

“There’s a table in the corner that’s been glaring at you for the past minute and a half.” He tilted his head in their direction. “Go take a minute for yourself. I’ll get it.”

“Wait but you-“

“I’ll get it.” He interrupted.

“Anakin-“

“What did I just say?” He said sternly.

“You’ll get it.” You responded quietly, eyes wide at his response… and the swirling storm of heat that pooled in your lower stomach.

“Good girl. Go.” He gestured dismissing you with a wave of his hand before turning on his heel.

Diary Entry: July 12th

Oh my sweet, sweet little girl.

I just love you so much I want to scoop you up and tuck you in my pocket.

You’ve been watching me. You little sneak. I purposefully don’t look up at your window when I leave and come home from work. I know you’re sitting there, I just didn’t know you were aware of me walking past. I don’t like to look up there because, well, I’m me. I’d get distracted. Horribly distracted and terribly late to work.

That’s why my head is always down, eyes scorching holes into my phone screen as I watch you, watching me.

You are so much like me. So much.

You’re just perfect for me princess. I’ve never found someone or even dreamed of finding someone who could appreciate me like I would appreciate them. That must be why it took me so long to find you, good things come to those who wait.

Waiting for you has become one of my favorite things.

I waited and waited and waited. I researched, gathered and collected, stored, filed and tucked away every minuscule detail of your life I could get my hands on. All before I let myself step foot in your apartment.

Then I waited some more. Waited until I could move in next door. Waited until I could finally let you see me.

Now I needed to wait for tomorrow.

For you to get your little drink and watch me like I watched you at the diner. Then when you get home, you’ll crawl in bed. All snuggled up in your comfy new sheets.

And it’ll be your turn to wait.

Ps. Did you know that Amazon sells pill moulds? I forgot to mention it earlier. Your SleepyTime tea won’t be enough, for this visit. I’m really lucky they have one that looks almost identical to Tylenol. I’m also really lucky that you’re oblivious enough not to question how ‘your’ bottle of Tylenol got placed conveniently next to your birth control to encourage you to take it.

I’ll make the quick switch and I’ll change them back asap.

Don’t worry, I’m not mixing drugs that shouldn’t be mixed. It’s perfectly safe to take your SleepyTime Trazodone Tea and Estazolam. I would never put you in danger. I even accounted for the fact that you always take two.

It’s real handy that I’ll have a whole bottle of ‘Tylenol’ just in case I need to pull out this trick again.

Date: July 12th

The moment you got home you practically sprinted to the shower. Not because you felt icky from work. Not because it was hair wash day. Not because you just needed to get clean.

You needed a good cold shock to your system.

The icy water pelted you like hail. If it weren’t for the chattering of your teeth and the blood rushing to your ears you swear you’d be able to hear the water sizzle and evaporate against your scorching hot skin.

Anakin had ruined you. Absolutely ruined you.

You hardly know him. How can he make you feel like this and you’ve only spoken to him for maybe an hour in total. That’s insane. You’ve interacted with him for maybe an hour or two if you take into account the times you’ve passed each other in the hall and said hello.

It’s like he knows you down to your very soul.

He acts like he was put on earth to serve you; like it’s his only reason for existing. If you were told that every thing he does, he does for you… you’d believe it wholeheartedly.

He speaks to you like he needs you to hear every syllable and know deep in your heart that he is very fucking serious about everything he says. His voice is tailored to fit your needs perfectly. He can be soft spoken and comforting. Kind and understanding. He can be firm and unwavering, serious, stern.

His voice can also be deep, rough, gravely. It can grip your attention and hold you under his thumb in a way that no man has ever done before. It’s sinful really.

He touches you like you are a precious, fragile relic meant to be coveted and kept safe. Handles you like the finest silk, like he knows each and every thread you’re woven with. Those hands, they feel so familiar.

‘He’s loved me in a past life.’ You thought to yourself. ‘That’s the only explanation.’

How else could your body light up in recognition at the firm but gentle caress of his guitar-calloused fingertips along your arms?

He looks at you and sees you.

He sees what you’ve kept locked away from everyone, maybe even the things you yourself can’t see.

You let yourself ponder over the very real possibility that you’ve gone insane. This is crazy. You’re acting like you’ve lost your last marble and you can’t catch it before it rolls under the fridge to be lost forever.

What if it’s all in your head?

What if none of these feelings are reciprocated and you’ve imagined it all? Could you really be that daft?

You shook your head and turned the shower off, stepping out and wrapping yourself in a big fluffy robe. Letting yourself drip-dry in front of the mirror while you desperately try to warm yourself back up. All the while still being painfully aware of the ache between your legs that never fully goes away. Not since the first time you felt it in his presence.

It wanes when you’re away from him. It barely dwindles to a quiet lull when you try to fix it yourself. It’s become an itch that you simply cannot scratch. It’s an incessant nagging reminder that Anakin is slowly consuming you and that he’s completely unaware of it.

It’s gotten to the point that sometimes when you wake up in the morning, it feels like you’ve been toyed with. You’ll wake up with panties soaked with arousal, so much so that the fabric sticks to you. Your nipples feel sensitive and raw. You swear you can feel the ghost of warm hands much larger than your own exploring your flesh.

You’ve come to the conclusion that your body is begging for you to give it what it needs.

You’ve all but given up on masturbation. You’re certain that nothing, not even the most luxe toy on the market could give you what Anakin could.

His cock is the only thing that can sate that horrible tug of desperate hunger you feel in your core.

Until you can have him it seems that you’ll be going to bed hungry and waking up starving.

Diary Entry: July 13th

I should win an award. I have worked so fucking hard on self control and god damn you tested me last night.

I was gnawing off my own fingers trying to quiet myself enough to hear your soft desperate pleas for release. You poor thing, if it hurts me so badly to wait that long to cum… I can only imagine what it feels like for you.

Almost an hour of it.

I could hear it baby. How wet you were for me, the sound your delicate little fingers made when you slid them down beneath your panties and as deeply into your needy little hole as you could.

It just wasn’t deep enough was it, princess?

Twice tonight you’ve tried and failed to give yourself an ounce of relief. If anything you’ve made it worse.

I walked home from ‘work’ (aka the 7/11 because I needed a snack and for you to see me now that I knew you were watching) and listened to your first try, I promise I wasn’t trying to invade your privacy like that. That’s the whole reason there’s no visual to the camera installed in your room. Audio only.

Audio that I always make a point to survey, along with footage from the other cameras, on my way home from work. Gotta keep updated you know? See what I’ve missed.

Anyway, that time you gave up relatively quickly. Must’ve decided to wait for me to get back huh? I saw you. Sitting in the window, watching me watch you through the screen.

Funny that a few minutes after I’d locked my front door I got the notification that your bedroom door had been shut. And I suppose it could’ve been a coincidence that when I pulled up the live audio I just so happened to catch the rustling of your sheets and the soft sigh escaping your lips as you starting in on your second attempt to pleasure yourself.

Of course I couldn’t let you do it alone. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t join my little princess in the bedroom any chance I got?

The pitiful noises you made broke my heart.

You tried so hard didn’t you sweetheart? All that work and you didn’t even cum. It made me hurt for you. I felt ashamed that I finished and you didn’t.

I provided solid, albeit silent and unseen, support while you worked. I wanted nothing more than to burst through your door and help you. To let you take what you needed from me.

I could be your toy. I’d be still, I’d be good. I’d let you use me until you’ve gotten your fill.

You deserve it after all the selfish teasing.

I’m sorry that you’ve been left so needy.

I’m not sorry that I did it though. How could I be sorry for the way I can make you squirm even in your sleep?

Remember what I said about killing two birds with one stone? Well, let’s make that a quad-kill okay doll?

Date: July 13th

You were giddy with excitement, you woke up in the best mood. You flitted to the kitchen and made yourself a cup of coffee in your brand new favorite Hello Kitty mug, then plopped onto the couch to call Luke.

“What are you doing tonight?” You asked the second you heard the call connect.

“What I don’t even get a hello? A goodmorning?” He scoffed.

“Hello, Goodmorning. What are you doing tonight?” You asked, meaning to sound sarcastic but you were too blissfully happy to sell it.

“Probably me.” You heard a gruff, sleepy voice crackle from a distance on Luke’s end of the line. Han.

“Jesus what’s wrong with you?” Luke snapped in a hushed whisper.

“What?” Han asked as though he truly didn’t understand what Luke was referring to.

“Sorry. Anyway.” Luke cleared his throat and you swear you heard Han chuckled and the rustling of sheets along with a dull thud and groan coming from Han.

“Lukey don’t kick your boyfriend.” You sighed, “now both of you shut up.”

“I need you to come to the bar with me tonight. You know for moral support.” You said, a giggle slipping through. “Anakin came to the restaurant for pie yesterday and he wants me to come get a drink at The Cerulean tonight.”

“So, he asked you out?” Luke questioned skeptically.

“Well no,” you said slowly. “Not exactly. He’s gonna be working… he just wanted me to come say hello cause he came to the restaurant…” you trailed off.

“We saw each other at the laundromat yesterday.” You started to explain. “And we realized we never told each other where we worked, and then we both realized we’d actually been to each other’s work… he even served me a drink at the bar. I finally remembered where I knew his face from! I thought he looked familiar.” You said proudly.

“So, you saw him at the laundromat. Invited him to the Bluebird for pie, he’s returning the favor by asking you to come see him at the bar?” Luke repeated.

“Yep. So you’ll come with me?” You asked, a grin spreading across your lips.

“Fuckin’…” He groaned. “Of course I’m coming with you are you stupid? You think I’m letting you go to a bar alone?”

“Oh I just love you.” You cooed, so so relieved he’d agreed.

“You better.”

🖤🖤🖤

With your hair pulled back in a loosely curled bun, you slipped into a cute little lilac slip dress that fit you just right. Some heels to match hastily strapped on you timidly walked into your living room and did a little spin for your best friend and his pet leech Han.

“How’s this?” You asked, gesturing to your outfit Vanna White style.

“Perfect.” Luke said with a grin. “Hot.”

“Really?” You asked as a small shy smile crossed your mouth.

“Have I ever lied to you?” He asked seriously.

“No.” You giggled.

“You look gorgeous. Now take me to meet this little boy-toy of yours.” He said, standing up from the couch as Han dutifully follow behind.

“He’s not little. He’s actually pretty tall.” You said nonchalantly.

“Do you have to have an answer to everything?” He scoffed.

“For you? Yes.”

🖤🖤🖤

You walked up to the bar, Han and Luke trailing closely behind you. You didn’t see Anakin. When you turned around to pout to your friends you were surprised to see Anakin standing behind you with his hands in his barkeep’s apron.

Luke watched the exchange with narrowed eyes and his lips pulled up in a “hmm” position. Like he was scrutinizing every last movement and word said. Maybe he was wrong about this guy. Maybe you were right and he really was all you’d painted him to be.

“Boo.” He grinned.

“Ani!” You said excitedly clapping, not even realizing you’d dropped a nickname for him.

But he noticed. He noticed and it almost brought him to his knees. Though instead of passing out and throwing up like he felt that he was going to, his hand came up to your bicep to glide down the back of your arm and bring your hand to his lips. Brushing those plump pink lips across your knuckles, all while deeply, intensely, staring into your eyes.

“Hey princess.” He smiled, then broke eye contact to address your friends and leave you to buffer.

Your turn to faint.

“You guys with her?” He asked politely, giving them a once over know that he was in front of them, up close.

“Mhm.” Luke answered. A polite smile on his lips as he stuck out his hand. “Yeah I’m Luke, this is Han.” He nodded toward him and Anakin introduced himself in return, shaking their hands.

“Look, I told Trev I’d be taking a little break to hang out with you all for a bit.” Anakin said, pointing at his work friend. “He’s happy to oblige until he gets sick of handling it by himself.” He grinned.

Conversation flowed between the three of them easily and you thoroughly enjoyed watching it play out. No one you’d ever crushed on had ever won Luke over, but Anakin was definitely cracking the concrete wall Luke built in his head to protect you.

You didn’t even feel the need to speak, you were comfortable and content just to listen. Anakin made you feel included even if he wasn’t speaking directly to you. Every so often he would tap his sneaker against the side of your heel, he’d be talking in depth about something with Luke or Han but staring at you like you were the only person in the room.

You wished he would grab you and pull you closer. But he was too respectful, too… traditional? Was that the right word? What else would you call someone who you’ve come to believe is practically courting you.

That’s what this is. You know it. You’ve seen it, read it, consumed it in enough forms of media to know that he is testing the waters and waiting for you to accept his offer.

This is the modern version of a promenade about the park.

The sweet words. Gentle touches. Occasional obvious flirts. Cutesy nicknames. Only meeting you in public, allowing you to oblige it on your terms. Offering his help in anyway he could. Not asking you out on a date, a proper one. He hadn’t even given you his phone number.

It all translates.

Sweet nothings whispered in the parlor. Comments that would’ve had you hiding your blush with a silk fan. Princess, Baby, Sweetheart; Precious, My Love, My Sweet. He even called you darlin’.

Courting means publicly inviting you to take his hand. Respectfully requesting you to allow him to steal away a piece of your heart. The gentlemanly way.

Offering his help with the groceries, gifting you the book. You’d accepted both and you only had one more until you’d be giving him silent permission to ask you to be his.

Yet you hadn’t even realized it until right now. Wait… did carrying your laundry count? No. Surely not. No. The others were extremely memorable. The third would be even more so, you were sure of it.

“Sweet girl.” Anakin cooed, snapping you out of your thoughts. “I’ve gotta go back behind the counter. What do you want to drink? On me, alright baby?”

“Oh,” you stuck out your bottom lip slightly and quirked up the corner of your mouth in thought, “Um just surprise me.” You smiled.

“Sure thing.” He grinned, a gentle thumb graced your cheekbone before he turned on his heel and headed back where he was needed.

“I’m so sorry for doubting you.” Luke said in a low and serious tone. “Like truly I’m baffled.”

“I know.” You agreed, wide eyed at Luke’s approval.

“The woman was too stunned to speak.” Han said, trying not to smirk.

“Do not quote memes to me right now.” You giggled.

You heard the double snap of Anakin’s fingers and spun around like the obedient little thing you were. Happily taking the two small steps to lean on the bar and accept your drink from Anakin.

“Margarita?” He asked, sliding it toward you.

“Yummy.” You nodded, “thank you.” You blushed.

“Oh, ‘course.” He grinned. “Anytime doll.”

“Beer for the boys.” He said, nodding at them behind you and producing two tall foamy mugs.

“Oh thanks, you didn’t have to do that.” Han said, taking a swig.

“No big deal.” Anakin shrugged, turning back to you. “Go have fun. Find me before you leave alright?”

“Uh huh.” You giggled, “I will.”

“I know.” He patted the counter near your hand and winked before turning to take someone else’s order.

“Oh you’ve got it bad.” Han let out a rumbling laugh.

“Uh huh.” You agreed enthusiastically, knowing it was true and not caring enough to pretend it wasn’t obvious.

The rest of the night was more of the same, your friends teasing you. Stealing a glance toward the bar to see that Anakin was already staring at you with the intensity of a burning star.

“You ready to go home?” Luke asked Han.

“Mmm.” He grunted in agreement and looked at Luke expectantly.

“Go on.” Luke shooed you toward the bar to tell Anakin you were leaving. They walked toward the door to wait for you, giving you just a hair of privacy.

As you walked up to the bar, Anakin was speaking to a girl who was very obliviously trying to flirt with him.

“What’ll you have?” He asked flatly.

“What’s your favorite?” She smiled, leaning on the counter and pushing her tits together.

“If you want a recommendation go to Jess.” He pointed to another coworker who was currently mixing a drink. “She’ll help.”

“What? You think I can’t handle whatever whiskey it is that you like best?” She giggled, clearly unfazed by his lack of interest.

It made your heart swell, he was acting this way and he didn’t even realize you were within earshot. He was so busy wiping down the counter to avoid eye contact with this girl, he hadn’t looked up once.

“I don’t drink.” He said.

“A bartender who doesn’t drink?” She laughed and it sounded like a fucking cackle, you saw Anakin suck in his cheeks and turn his head to tuck his chin into the shoulder farther from her to ensure he wouldn’t burst into laughter at her.

He cleared his throat and finally looked up. The eyes you know as warm and comforting looked cast from frozen steel.

“That’s what I said isn’t it?” Anakin’s voice was cold in a way that you’d never heard before and it scared you… but also kind of excited you? Like the cold wave you’d felt from his gaze once before it was gone in an instant.

Once again he’d surprised you. Just like every other time you’d been in his company. The girl scoffed and muttered something under her breath but Anakin had already left the one sided conversation and his face softened, the blue of his eyes being swallowed by the pools of black that spilled over every time he looked at you.

“There’s my princess.” He cooed. Proving without you even asking, that he had eyes only for you.

“I came to say I’m headed home.” You smiled bashfully, your hands clasped together in front of you as you rocked from your toes to your heels.

“Your body guards are walking with you right?” He asked, concern creeping in to his gentle voice.

“Of course.” You nodded, it was so sweet that he worried about you like this.

“Good.” He smiled, holding out his hand and using two fingers to beckon you closer.

You stepped forward and gave him what he wanted, your hand to squeeze gently.

“Be safe okay? I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah.” You nodded enthusiastically. “Yes you’ll see me soon.”

“Thats my girl.” He flashed a bright smile, taking your one hand in both of his and kissing your knuckles. Rubbing his across your skin his thumbs creating a heart on the back of your hand when he pulled away.

“Bye Ani.” You said, making a quick escape with one last look over your shoulder before running to Luke and Han.

🖤🖤🖤

After they returned you safely to your home you went about your nightly routine. Boil water, make tea, take birth control, and oh look at that you even had the forethought to set Tylenol out as well. Pop two of those and then shower quickly, settle in for bed and before you know it, you’re so asleep that you can’t hear your front door unlock.

Anakin intently listened to the audio of your bedroom intently on his way home. From the way you were snoring Anakin knew you were deep, deep, deep in sleep. Even so, he needed to be careful, so after he showered at his apartment he crept silently into yours with a small bag in tow.

He tested your level of unconsciousness via sound before even attempting to enter your room. Just like every other time he’d snuck in. No response.

So he opened your bedroom door and gently shooed the cat out of the room. She was very unhappy about this considering Anakin usually let her snuggle in his lap when he came to watch you sleep. But he wasn’t here to watch or to get a quick fix, not even for a little bit of teasing.

He was here to play.

Armed with the necessary tools he laid them neatly on the foot of the bed after slipping on his Ghostface mask. Cliché sure, but he knew your little secret. If you happened to wake up, which was highly unlikely, he’d be anonymous and you’d think it was another wet dream.

He pushed up the sleeves of his solid black hoodie, carefully took off his sneakers, followed by his leather gloves. He hated having to take the extra measure to hide his identity just in case but it’s his own fault for having so many tattoos.

Once finished he picked up your wrist and dropped it, watching it fall clumsily at your side. Perfect. Now he could get to the fun stuff.

He peeled back the covers and took a moment to soak in your image, you were spoon feeding him pure beauty and didn’t even know it.

He’d done this before. He couldn’t help but sneak the occasional picture, but he’d never taken a picture of you completely bare before.

Tenderly he pushed your thin nightie up and over your soft breasts, taking his sweet time to caress and care for you like always, but this time he let himself touch your chest sans fabric barrier. It was something so unforgettable, seeing the peaks of your breasts rise and pebble up under his thumb. Even more so the soft sleepy sigh you let out when he lifted his mask to suck and twirl his tongue around them. Tugging lightly before letting it fall back into place so he could watch them jiggle.

His hands traveled to your hips and slid your panties down partially. He posed you, one hand on your breast, the other he placed between your legs under your panties. He stood over you and took several pictures from different angles.

Deciding his jeans were much to restricting and horribly tight across his swelling cock, he got rid of them.

Once he was more comfortable he slid your panties farther down and placed them aside. He kneeled, getting eye level with your cunt.

The most sacred part of you. Where he so badly wanted to bury his cock, but he refrained. That could wait until you were conscious and willing.

“Look at you.” He groaned, biting his lip before getting back to the task at hand.

For now, he would slide your own fingers past your slick folds, into your greedy pussy. Holding your wrist in place so that your limp hand wouldn’t fall away. He even let you have a little taste of yourself, of course capturing that on film as well.

Now that he had some gorgeous new material for the visual to go along with the pretty little noises you make when you think no one is listening… he had some new ideas to try out.

Ideas like tilting your head to the side and slipping just the head of his precum coated dick past your plump lips. His hand trembled as he clicked record, the bright white light of the flash illuminating your face. You didn’t even flinch. Your eyelids didn’t twitch, your mouth didn’t move.

The longer he rubbed his cockhead over your tongue and traced your lips till they were shiny with precum and saliva, the more confident he grew.

“Tastes good doesn’t sweetheart? Shame you can’t lick those pretty lips isn’t it?” He snickered, tapping your cheek with his cockhead to leave a sticky trail behind.

He wasn’t worried in the slightest that you’d wake up now, so he allowed himself to go just a bit further.

Pinching the tip of your tongue and opening your jaw alittle wider, he removed his cock completely. Making sure to get a good shot of untouched throat, he’d need a before picture to refer to later.

He slowly pushed back in, stopping when he hit the back of your throat. The only bad thing about you being unconscious was that you couldn’t tell him if his fat cock was choking you. So he’d have to settle for his hand covering what wouldn’t fit in your mouth.

He sat his phone aside, he needed both hands for this. If he wanted to feel you moan around his cock, he’d have to give you something to moan about.

Hiking up one leg of yours and letting it fall to your side, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the way you were letting him treat you like a noodle. You were practically boneless… it crossed his mind to put you in the Piledriver, see how far he could fold you, but once again: you’re unconscious and you can’t tell him if you’re uncomfortable.

He had morals, lines he wouldn’t cross, rules he wouldn’t erase… maybe bend them, but not wholly change them either.

So he settled for rubbing circles around your puffy clit, already wet and needy little pussy. His hand on the back of your head to keep you still, he couldn’t have your poor brain rattling around your skull while he fucked your mouth. He loved you too much to give you whiplash via mouthful of dick.

“Oh you like that don’t you baby? Yeah you do, I can feel it.” He moaned, letting himself get lost in listening to the combined sounds of his cock in your mouth and his fingers toying with your wetness.

He slid his fingers down your slit and back up again; that’s when you made a bit of noise for him and holy shit.

His hand left your cunt immediately to keep your jaw pried open and held still while his other pumped his shaft wildly. He’d been at this more maybe two minutes tops and the vibration from that one gorgeous moan was enough to draw up his balls and scrunch his face.

He whimpered, removing his hand from your jaw, he let go of his cock and almost cried from how painfully close to cumming he was. But he couldn’t not get the first time he came in your mouth on camera. So he grabbed you by your hair and propped up your head to keep your mouth open. Straddling your chest he kneeled over you and watched through his phone screen as rope after rope of white, hot, love coated your tongue and throat.

He could’ve shed a tear at how outrageously beautiful you looked, how messy your mouth was, the drip of his semen down the back of your throat.

Anakin quickly switched over to taking photos again, he desperately needed a clear picture of your cum coated throat and god did he get the perfect image. He’d make it his screensaver if he could.

Once again tossing his phone aside he leaned over you, spitting a glob of saliva to help wash his essence down when he squeezed beneath your jaw to make you swallow.

“Perfect. Good job baby.” He whispered. “Took it like a champ.”

He squeezed both cheeks in one hand to squish your lips together. Smiling at the way you looked. Eyelids half raised from all the movement, face flushed, swollen lips.

“S’fucking cute.” He laughed, smacking your cheek twice, gently of course. Just a little love tap.

He extricated himself from you and shuffled back down to the end of the bed, between your legs where he belonged. Spreading your legs nice and wide, he took a second to just enjoy the view.

“Pretty little thing aren’t you?” He splayed his two large hands across your stomach and slowly snaked it down your abdomen, across your mound, trailing to your inner thighs to finally hook beneath your knees and lift your legs.

He needed you in the butterfly position if he were to properly pleasure you this time around. He wouldn’t tease you tonight and make you writhe and moan and hump his hand but never cum.

He’d turned you into a needy whore just like he wanted to, but you deserved a reward, he reminded himself. Because it was oh so tempting to continue that little game he loved.

“What do you think doll? Dildo or vibrator?” He asked, laying the toys one after the other between your legs to snap at photo of.

“Ah who am I kidding, you want the vibrator don’t you?” He asked rhetorically. “Here princess, get it wet for me.”

He brought the toy to your lips and rubbed it across your tongue, grinning when he pulled it away and saw the shiny string of saliva connecting to your tongue.

“Sorry you can’t have my cock sweetheart.” He said, sounding a bit mournful as he dragged the tip of the vibrator down your throat and through the midline of your body, stopping just above your clit.

“I’d love to fuck you but… I can’t do that to you.” He sighed. “You’ll just have to wait. It’ll make it more special huh?” He smiled, turning the toy onto the lowest setting.

He teased your entrance with the very tip, barely ghosting it around and around. When he finally saw your hole clench around nothing he sucked in a sharp breath and chuckled, he couldn’t help it, it was comical how badly you needed him.

Slowly, frustratingly slowly he inserted the tip and twisted. Gently thrusting it deeper and deeper until it was fully seated in your cunt. He left it there to watch for a moment, untouched and unmoved, you dripped arousal down onto the sheets below you. A beautiful little pool of sex he’d get to take home as a trophy.

“More?” He asked softly. “I think you need more don’t you sweetheart?”

He switched the setting higher, about halfway to full power and sat back on his heels watching your hips buck and your stomach tighten. A beautiful strangled moan left your swollen lips and Anakin couldn’t help himself.

“Gotta kiss that sweet mouth baby, lemme see that tongue.” He groaned, sliding the mask up just enough to suction his lips to yours to suck and pull and lick to his heart’s content.

“Fuck your mouth… tastes so good.” He whined, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth and pulling, watching it snap back into place with a wet pop.

Just as he was about to go in for another kiss he heard you take a deep inhale. He pulled the mask back into place and backed away, watching you closely for any sign that you were being roused awake.

“Don’t fucking scare me like that.” He mumbled, turning up the vibrator again.

“If you wanna cum so bad then ask for it.” He grinned.

He thrust the toy back and forth in time with his hand on his cock, loving the way your body tried to so hard to wake up your mind so you could enjoy it fully.

“Poor thing. Squirming for me.” He panted, scooting closer and seating the vibrator back into your cunt fully. “I’ll let you cum this time okay? You need it don’t you sweet girl?”

Anakin brushed his thumb across your clit quickly and beamed at the way your idle hands tried to grip the sheets beneath you.

“So close baby girl, so fucking close.” He whispered, flicking your clit just to see you jump.

He snickered and settled his thumb solidly against your puffy red button and rubbed firmly. Jacking his cock in time with his ministrations on you.

“Gonna cum…” he whined, noting the way your legs were lifting slightly from the bed.

“Yeah. Yeah, c’mon baby, fuck.” He grunted, fucking up into his fist as he tilted his head back. Spilling his cum onto the quivering canvas of your spent folds.

He slowly milked the rest of his seed out onto you and pulled the vibrator from your depths, scooping up his cum and shoving it into your greedy hole to massage into your gummy walls where it belongs.

He stroked your front wall carefully, pressing up against the sweet spongy spot that made your toes curl. The second he pressed the vibrator down on your clit your cunt spasmed around his fingers and he got to see you come undone for the first time.

“Oh shit.” He breathed out, his voice shaky as he watched that puddle beneath you become a lake as your squirt dripped over his hand and onto the fabric.

“Fucking hell.” He moaned, shoving his hand beneath his mask to slurp your juices from every centimeter of his skin.

He was too busy loosing himself in the taste of you to notice you finally fluttering your eyes open just slightly, moaning in overstimulation from the toy he’d left buzzing between your pussy lips.

“Goddamnit.” He swore, shoving his still hard cock back into his boxers and switching off the toy.

He waited, waited a painfully long time to make sure you were still stuck in dreamland before moving again. It was time to high-tail it out of there.

He clumsily shoved his things into his bag and tugged on his pants and belt. Cursing himself for getting carried away like that, for not paying attention, for almost waking you up.

Slipping into his sneakers and tugging his sleeves back down he fumbled in his pockets to find his gloves and hastily shoved his hands in them.

He stood at the foot of the bed and stared at the mess he’d helped you make on your sheets. Great. Now he really couldn’t just leave his own set of sheets beneath your mattress to change later when you were gone.

He had to do it now.

He pulled your comforter fully off the bed, your extra pillows and stuffed animals as well. The top sheet was used to quickly and carefully wipe the mess off your skin before he folded it and shoved it down into the bag.

Thinking ahead he laid the clean top sheet over the comforter so he could put both on at the same time, save a few seconds. Now came the hard part.

He popped up one corner of the fitted sheet and replaced it with the new one, doing the same to two of the other sides. He kneeled on the bed with his feet hanging off the side, careful not to get his sneakers on the clean sheets.

He gingerly laid your arms at your sides and oh so slowly rolled you over until you were flat on your back again.

Anakin held his breath and tried his very best not to laugh because of the fact that he had quite literally rolled you like a log and you didn’t even budge. He walked around to the other side and finished taking off the sheet and fitting the new one over the last edge.

After the sheet was folded and carefully tucked into his bag he tossed it over his shoulder and went to your bedroom door to allow your cat back into the room with you, she’d always snuggle under the covers beside you and you’d be awfully confused if you woke up and realized she had somehow gotten out of your room without the help of opposable thumbs.

Anakin surveyed the room and smacked himself internally. He almost left you panty-less.

“Idiot. All tore up from one little thing.” He scoffed. “Can’t believe I almost-“

He shook his head and told himself to shut his mouth, he could shit talk himself later. Right now he needed to carefully slide your panties back into place and cover you back up, maybe give you alittle goodnight kiss too.

Finally everything was in place as it should be, he marked everything off in his internal to-do list and checked his watch. He’d kept it under two hours just like planned, everything was fine, so fine in fact that he didn’t bother to be careful with his foot-falls.

The high-pitched shriek of pain Boogie let out when he put his full weight onto the tip of her tail was more than enough to wake the dead. Anakin froze, smacking the button on the side of his neck, attached to the box that would alter his voice in case he needed to speak.

“Boogs?” You sat up slowly, your body not in tune with your mind in any capacity. Funny how he could fuck you with a vibrator but an ear piercing cat wail could wake you up. Weird.

You didn’t even have your eyes open, poor thing. Anakin laughed before he realized he was making any noise at all.

If your eyes were sewn shut with sleep before they were stretched wide with terror now. You scanned the room and were horrified to see a tall, imposing figure in a… Ghostface mask?

Hot. Wait- no. You shook your head and flipped on your bedside lamp.

“Don’t fucking move.” He growled, producing a butterfly knife from his pocket and spinning it to flip it open.

You squealed but complied and shrunk back. There wasn’t much you could do anyway, you could barely hold your eyes open and your head up.

“Good.” He nodded, walking up to you basking in the knowledge that you’d be obedient in this type of situation.

“What’d you want?” You asked quietly.

“Just came to say hello to a pretty little thing that’s all.” He cooed and sat down on the side of the bed.

You whimpered and moved sluggishly away, finding it difficult to support your weight with your arms.

“Hold real still.” He soothed and for some reason you did.

You didn’t flinch or fight him when he used the tip of the knife to push your hair away from your eyes.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” He stated calmly. “Cross my heart, hope to die.”

You could practically hear the smirk in his filtered voice as he slashed the flat side of the knife in an X across the center of chest. In one fluid motion that was much more attractive than you’d ever willingly admit, he flipped out one of the dual knife handles and somehow swung it closed in the open palm of his hand by twitching his wrist quickly.

He showed you that he was putting it into the locked position, pushing the small rod at the bottom of one of the handles with his thumb until it clicked.

“You’re safe I promise.” He said. “I’ll let you hold it if you want.” He offered it in his open, flat palm but you denied it, shaking your head and quickly realizing that made you very dizzy.

“Brave one, huh?” He chuckled, pocketing the knife again.

He saw your eyes flit toward your phone and tsk’d audibly.

“Hey, I said I’m not gonna hurt you.” He reassured you. “Don’t try it okay?”

“Okay.” You agreed, bottom lip trembling.

“Like I said. I just wanted to say hello.” He shrugged. “And maybe remind you that you should remember to lock your windows.” He hated to lie, but he couldn’t say he just unlocked your front door could he?

At that moment your cat jumped up and settled in his lap. He carefully inspected her tail and gave her gentle chin scratches.

“Sorry bud. Didn’t mean to step on you.” He whispered.

“What the fuck.” You whispered, unbelievable. What the hell was happening?

“Hmm? Oh yeah, we’re good friends aren’t we?” He said, patting her head. “Now, go to your mommy m’kay?” He scooped her up and put her in your arms.

“She’s had a bit of a fright.” He told your cat. “Best to keep her company.”

“Now. I’m gonna leave okay?” He said, standing up slowy, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. “Count to 100.”

“What?”

“Count to 100 before you get up or try to call anyone. Got it?” He said, his tone even through the filter suggested that you should’ve just known what he meant.

“Yeah.” You nodded, your eyes feeling heavy and droopy again.

“Good.” He had to try extremely hard not to use pet names with you. He was certain you’d be suspicious immediately if he did.

“I’m going to leave through your front door, after I lock your window for you. Understand?” He said while slowly backing out of your room.

You blinked, mouth agape, still so very confused. What is this? Is this some strange and vivid dream? Maybe you should ask?

“Am I- this a dream?” You questioned, feeling stupid as soon as it left your lips.

He tilted his head and clasped his hands in front him, leaning his back against your bedroom door frame.

“Do you want it to be?” He asked in a teasing way that sounded too familiar for your comfort.

“What?” Your voice shook, you were suddenly aware of how pathetically helpless you were.

A stranger with a knife is in your bedroom and you’re just speaking to him like this is the fucking checkout line at Kroger.

He chuckled, scratching the side of his mask as if it were his cheek. “Pink book. Right bottom corner under the mattress.” Anakin nodded toward your bed.

“You- wait.” You felt sick, your diary? He was talking about your diary? How long was he in here?

“Mhm.” He nodded.

He waited for you to speak again, relaxing again the the doorframe. He let his head tilt back and knock against the wood while he crossed his legs at the ankle and unclasped his hands. Cracking his knuckles with his fingers laced together.

“Well?” He asked, crossing his arms across his broad chest.

“Well what?”

“Do you want it to be a dream?” He repeated firmly, leaning forward just a bit.

Why did you want to say yes?

“I’m not hearing a no.” He raised a hand in the form of a question from where it was tucked underneath his arm.

“No.” You shook your head, watching the room spin. “D-did you drug me?” You whispered rubbing your eyes as dancing lights flashed across your eyelids.

“Yep.” He answered nonchalantly. “Don’t worry you’ll be fine.”

“Huh.” You breathed out. If this was real life and a stranger broke into your house and somehow drugged you… why wasn’t he trying to hurt you?

It must be a dream. Sure. Yes. A dream.

“What’ll it be?” He asked “should I stay? Or should I go?”

“What do you want to do?” You wondered aloud and immediately regretted not thinking before you spoke.

“Oh you don’t wanna know.” He snickered.

“Then why’re you here?”

“You’re peaceful when you sleep.” He said casually. “I like to watch you.”

“You what?” You squeaked. “You’ve been here before?”

“How about this.” He proposed, walking back to your bed and fishing your diary out from under the mattress. “You have questions for me, I’ll answer them. Write ‘em down.”

He tossed it on the edge of the bed and reached out to you. “C’mere.”

“Why?”

“Just do it okay?” He sighed and watched you scoot closer.

He gingerly reached out as if you might bite him, you probably should. But for whatever reason you didn’t want to. He kind of felt… familiar. He didn’t scream ‘psycho killer’ instead he radiated comfort.

His leathered fingers scratched the top of your head in soothing circles. Why were you allowing this? Why were you not terrified?

“Go back to sleep.” He said softly. “I’m leaving now.”

“Why?”

“Do you want me to stay?” He laughed.

“What? N-no?” You shook your head, denying it vehemently. “Of course not.”

“Sure.” He teased. “G’night.” He straightened up and patted your head.

You watched him leave, heard him walk through your living room and kitchen and leave your apartment.

You didn’t move. You didn’t jump up and run. You didn’t grab your phone and call the cops or Luke or anyone else.

You didn’t feel scared, you thought maybe your strange acceptance of the situation was a survival instinct that would go away when the threat did. But you weren’t scared. If anything… you felt alittle lonely now that he was gone.

Part Seven

This is a butterfly knife for those of you who are unaware lol

Tag-List:

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THE TAGS LIST IS FULL! But if you want to be tagged I will comment ur username for you. Love you all so many.

[blackenedsnow]

Hi could I please request a beetlejuice x reader fanfic where they are together or in love and reader is killed. Reader shows up in the waiting room panicking that beetlejuice will find their murdered appearance disgusting. And him just reassuring reader etc?

Love your work so much!

waiting for you

WARNING: Gore, descriptions of death, disfigured appearance, angst

PAIRING: Beetlejuice x Reader

NOTE: Thank you so much for this request! I’m so glad you enjoy my work, and I loved writing this one! Hope you enjoy! Stay safe, and take care!

SUMMARY: You are killed unexpectedly and end up in the afterlife’s waiting room, panicking over how Beetlejuice will react to your disfigured appearance.

You never imagined death would feel so... cold.

One moment, you were alive, your heartbeat thundering in your chest as you screamed for help, the world spinning, blood soaking the ground beneath you. The next, you were here, in this waiting room that smelled like mildew and decay. It was quiet, except for the soft ticking of the clock on the wall – the kind of quiet that gets under your skin. The silence pressed against your ears, and you had to fight the urge to scream just to break it.

You glanced down at yourself, at the torn, mangled flesh, and the panic rose in your throat again, thick and choking. Your hands trembled as you touched the edges of the wound, your fingers slick with drying blood. You could still feel the ache, the raw pain of the knife sinking into your chest, the way your breath had rattled and caught as life slipped from your grasp.

But it wasn’t just the pain or the cold that terrified you. No. What else terrified you was the thought of him seeing you like this.

Beetlejuice.

He loved you, you knew that. As twisted and unconventional as his affection was, it was real. His love was like nothing you’re ever experienced before – intense, overwhelming, and often chaotic. But now, sitting here in this grotesque version of yourself, you wondered if even he could handle what you’d become.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall and had to turn away. Your face was... wrong. Pale, sunken, smeared with blood. The gash in your neck gaped open like a grotesque smile, the skin torn and jagged. You looked like something out of a horror movie, something even Beetlejuice might recoil from.

What if he can’t stand to look at you? The thought slithered into your mind, and you clenched your fists, your nails biting into the flesh of your palms. He loved the bizarre, the weird, the macabre – but this? This was different. You weren’t just some oddity or a playful corpse in his world. You were broken. Ruined.

You were disgusting.

Your chest tightened, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to steady your breathing. But every inhale was shaky, every exhale ragged. How could he ever look at you the same way again? How could he still want you, like this?

You didn’t have to wait long to find out.

There was a burst of energy as Beetlejuice appeared right in front of you, his signature grin plastered on his face. His mismatched suit was as disheveled as ever, his hair wild, that manic glint in his eyes brighter than ever. And then he saw you.

For a second, you held your breath, waiting for the inevitable – waiting for the disgust to wash over his face, for the revulsion to twist his features. But instead, he just stopped, his grin faltering for the briefest of moments before it came back even wider.

"Babes," he rasped, his voice a gravelly purr as he sauntered toward you. "Look at you... You look killer."

You blinked, unsure if you had heard him right. His eyes raked over you, taking in the blood, the wounds, the disfigurement, but there was no horror in his expression. If anything, he seemed... impressed.

"Y’know," he said, crouching down in front of you, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of your matted hair from your face, "I gotta say, you pull off the whole freshly murdered look real well. But hey, you were always drop-dead sexy."

You stared at him, your mind spinning. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. Your throat was tight, your chest still heavy with the fear that had gripped you since the moment you arrived in this place.

"Beetlejuice," You whispered, your voice cracking, "I... I thought you’d... I thought you’d find me disgusting."

His expression softened, the manic energy in his eyes dimming for just a moment as he tilted his head, studying you. Then, with a laugh that echoed through the room, he leaned in closer, his hand cupping your cheek with surprising tenderness.

"Disgusting? Are you kiddin’ me?" he scoffed, his tone playfully offended. "Babes, you’re the most beautiful corpse I’ve ever laid eyes on." His thumb brushed over the bloodstained skin of your cheek, and you shuddered at the feeling – not from revulsion, but from the warmth in his touch. "I don’t care if you’ve got a few holes in you. I’ve seen worse, trust me."

You swallowed hard, your fear ebbing away with every word. "But I... I’m not the same."

"You think I fell in love with ya just ‘cause you were alive?" Beetlejuice chuckled, leaning in closer until our faces were just inches apart. His breath smelled faintly of decay. "Nah. I fell for the whole package – dead or alive, doesn’t matter to me. You’re mine, babes. Always will be."

His words settled over you like a balm, soothing the panic that had been gnawing at me since you arrived in the waiting room. You closed my eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

"You’re not afraid of this?" You asked, your voice barely a whisper.

"Afraid?" He snorted, leaning back just enough to give me one of his signature devilish grins. "Babe, I strive for this kind of thing! You should see some of the stiffs I’ve run into. You’re practically a masterpiece." He winked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Besides, who else would I wanna spend eternity with?"

You laughed, a small, broken sound, but it felt good. It felt real. Beetlejuice had always had a way of making the grotesque seem normal, of turning the terrifying into something almost... comforting. And now, as you sat there, bloodied and broken, you realized that nothing about you – not even death – could scare him away.

His fingers traced the edge of the wound on your neck, and instead of flinching, you leaned into his touch, trusting him completely.

"Besides," he whispered, "we make one hell of a couple now. Who needs a pulse, huh?"

You were dead, yes. But with Beetlejuice, death didn’t seem so bad.

[imaslutforwritingshit]

Things Ethan Landry would text- (Fem Friend Reader) PART 3

Warnings- mentions of smut, knifeplay, sexting, fearplay, confessions to murder.

If you guys like this, I’ll make an extended version, where I write a story in Y/n’s pov that happens after this texting story:)

The Ballad Of Terror

Y/n: hey loser

Ethan: Loser? that’s new.

Y/n: but true

Ethan: no good night text, bunny?

Y/n: ugh stop calling me that. I promise I don’t jump that weird.

Ethan: in PE class you look like a rodent

Y/n: shut up

Y/n: I want something else first before you get your good night text

Ethan: let me guess. You need homework answers?

Y/n: I don’t get anything in science. I don’t even know what a molecule is.

Ethan: luckily I’m smart.

Y/n: luckily.

Ethan: click to view

Y/n: thank u <3

Ethan: np.

Ethan: hey, how are you and David doing together?

Y/n: why?

Ethan: I’m just curious

Y/n: maybe being curious isn’t always the right thing to be

Ethan: I’m your friend who wants you to be happy.

Y/n: I am happy

Ethan: with David?

Y/n: why are you asking that like david can’t make me happy?

Ethan: because I don’t think he could

Y/n: he does.

Ethan: oh, yeah?

Y/n: yes.

Ethan: as in, present tense?

Y/n omg yes

Y/n: why do you care so much?

Ethan: you broke up with him last night.

Y/n: how did you know that?

Y/n: Ethan??

Y/n: who told you

Ethan: no one told me.

Y/n: then why the fuck do you know?

Ethan: I watched you get that text. You cried over your bedside table.

Ethan: don’t leave me on read

Ethan: cmon

Y/n: how do you know

Ethan: I watched you through the window.

Y/n: you’re my friend

Y/n: this is scaring me

Ethan: Don’t be scared. Remember when you told me that you loved the real me?

Y/n: yes.

Ethan: this is the real me.

Y/n: a stalker?

Ethan: For you,

Ethan: Yes.

Y/n: if you were watching me, what was I wearing?

Ethan: That Ivy League shirt I bought for you in 2018.

Y/n: what pants, then ??

Ethan: oh, that’s the best part.

Y/n: please

Ethan: you weren’t wearing any

Ethan: you hiked your thighs to your chest

Ethan: you were wearing black panties

Y/n: you’re a fucking creep

Ethan: don’t be like that.

Y/n: how long has this been going on?

Ethan: How long have I been in love with you?

Ethan: or watching you sleep

Ethan: ?

Y/n: i should call the police. do you stalk other girls?

Ethan: you’re the only one for me

Ethan: nobody makes me feel the way you make me feel

Ethan: All those girls meant nothing to me. They couldn’t replace you.

Y/n: what girls?

Y/n: you’re a manwhore now?

Ethan: don’t be stupid. I didn’t fuck anyone

Ethan: I killed them

Y/n: im calling the police

Ethan: I disconnected the system from your number

Ethan: you can’t call anyone for help

Y/n: what do you want from me?

Ethan: Don’t you want to know?

Ethan: Why I did it?

Y/n: no

Ethan: I want to hurt you. Is that bad?

Ethan: it just turns me on so much

Ethan: to imagine you begging for me

Ethan: begging me not to slice you open

Ethan: fuck your brains out until your screaming my name

Ethan: i want to use you

Ethan: and you and I both know you would enjoy it

Y/n: you’re ghostface

Ethan: oh

Ethan: what gave it away ?

Y/n: you piece of shit.

Ethan: I don’t think you should insult me right now

Y/n: why? you gonna kill me??

Ethan: don’t tempt me.

Y/n: but apparently I already am. I’m basically asking for a knife to my throat, aren’t I?

Y/n: to watch your cock enter me as you choke me

Y/n: god, it would turn me on so much!!!

Ethan: I don’t take sarcasm too well

Ethan: if your asking for it, I’ll give it to you.

Y/n: im blocking you

Ethan: you can’t hide

Y/n: I’ll lock my doors. Get my parents to call the cops when they come back.

Ethan: your parents aren’t home?

Ethan: That changes things.

Y/n: I locked everything

Y/n: leave me alone

Ethan: why did you assume I was outside your house?

Y/n: please leave me alone

Ethan: let’s play a game of hide and seek, y/n.

Ethan: you run

Ethan: you hide

Ethan: and we’ll see if I can catch you.

Ethan: and if I do…

Ethan: god, I love making you my victim.

Y/n: Ethan please

Ethan: 3

Ethan: 2

Ethan: 1

Ethan: time to run, bunny.

🩷

[myfriendpokey]

Talking About Some Horror Comics

(Image: Richard Sala, "The Bloody Cardinal")

On Cohost a while back i wrote a little bit about comicbook inspirations for Anthology Of The Killer - I might repost it when that site goes down at the end of the year, but until then you can read it here: https://cohost.org/thecatamites/post/7154072-i-wanted-to-write-so

For part two I wanted to talk more about horror comics in particular.

I probably wouldn't have gotten into horror at all if it weren't for comics. Horror comics can feel like a "cold" take on a very "warm" genre - indebted to and playing off of a familiar ground of horror films, but without film's tendency towards emotionalism or immediate effects... Working on a far more compressed scale than even the cheapest 80-minute b-movie, amplifying abruptness or abstraction into something dreamlike and strange. And with the great advantage of taking place inside a totally constructed world. It's not strictly a horror comic but something like Jess Johnson's "Nurture The Devil" is unsettling in part because it's hard to place in relation to either a real world or the world of dreams - whether it's a stylised version of some more familiar content or whether the stylisation is a literal depiction of what's happening.

A comic as physical object can also be a relic - not something we experience in one go, rather something to pick up, put down, sift through, read and reread, with new meanings emerging from a mass of material of which the supposed narrative may not be the most important part. The dreadful, knife-wielding maniacs from Al Columbia's Pim & Francie are familiar figures, but seeing their obsessive repetition across the different collected scraps of abandoned or submerged narratives changes them into dream symbols rather than direct threats.

I like a lot of comics that draw on horror imagery - Mark Beyer and Rory Hayes, A. Degen's "Junior Detective Files" and Daria Tessler's "Cult Of The Ibis", Nicole Claveloux and Imiri Sakabashira. But I wanted to try writing here about some comics that made me interested as horror in a genre itself.

Junji Ito: you may not have heard about this guy.... I actually hadn't read any of his work before the Viz edition of Uzumaki a while back, and the sense of being late to the party didn't make it feel less of a revelation. I think part of it was the sense of comics that were totally distinct while at the same time feeling like they were working entirely IN a genre tradition rather than against it; there was a sense of almost impersonal originality in their laconic and assured pacing, the clarity of line and their lack of need to give too much away, which suggested they must be drawing from and distilling a whole surrounding tradition. And this impression persists even when you follow up on other horror manga and the stated influences and find these comics still feel mysterious even in that context. One of his best effects is a willingness to seem more anonymous than he is, or to give the impression even in his most original effects that he's just flatly transcribing a readymade idea or image. And I think this is his biggest influence on internet-era horror, which has tended to disguise itself (even more than is typical for horror) in anonymous and generic forms, a surface impersonality: as if everyone aleady knew about this, except you.

But what I do feel gets underplayed about his work in particular is also how funny it is, and how indebted to comedy timing. Compare the monstrous reveal in an Ito story with one by Umezu (RIP) - in the latter the frame is pushed right in on someone's face, eyes bulging, screaming, the image repeats, gets even closer, we're in that portion of a nightmare where we feel immobilized by horror, stuck in a pit that we can never escape. The same moment in an ito story tends to be one of ironic equipoise - when the horrible thing finally appears it's depicted clearly, powerfully, it's almost this beautiful and static image. The onlookers stand frozen at the edges of the frame, mid movement, eyes wide but expression not yet changed, a single drop of cartoon sweat on the edge of their heads. There's a contrast between the assurance of the thing and the hapless rabbitlike fascination of the character regarding it, who becomes, like us, an aesthetic spectator - for a moment. When the spell breaks, when we see them screaming, running, it's comic because something of that mood of still contemplation that remains intact. Their eyes bulge, their mouths scream, but they're rushing backwards, away from the panel, and we regard their fear with the same attitude of detached interest with which we saw the full outline of the monstrous shape a panel earlier. To me this sense of humour is apiece with the disconcerting flatness of his approach to setting, in which the usual horror sets - gothic, extraordinary places outside the everyday - feel replaced by something anonymous and shabby, a kind of just-expired contemporary. The monsters rarely need to be explained; it's as though our own world has gradually become too worn down to have any purchase or power on these creatures of dreams that walk the landscapes and alleys with impunity.

Richard Sala - sometimes the artists I end up most fascinated by are ones I spend a while bouncing off of first. I read a few Richard Sala stories over the years and for a while I didn't know what to make of them. Great art, stylised and weird, but as narratives they were hard to place - too stylised and exaggerated to feel like straight horror but too obviously serious about and committed to those genre elements to feel like mere parody or pastice. I think I needed to read Uzumaki before I could get what he was doing, because it relies so much on a sense that genre horror was worth taking seriously; seriously enough to treat neither as a punchline or a heritage piece, something you could bring your own offbeat sensibilities and aesthetic to without condescending to the form, because there was something there. In some great interviews he did with the Comics Journal he was explicit about what he valued in the form: the dreamlike and symbolic qualities of b-movies, the ritual and fetishistic nature of repetition, the way pulp artists in an overlooked form could evolve a private vocabulary of forms, structures and images which worked like surrealist procedures to be mined and combined for new discoveries over time.

He was also interesting to me for the way his work changed over time. The shorter early pieces collected in comics like "Thirteen O'Clock" are recognizably art comics using a vocabulary of found horror images: the secret society, the leering face behind a window, are representative symbols of states of mind rather than presences in themselves. But his first longform serial "The Chuckling Whatsit" inverts this. Here the horror elements are given full play - it's a crazed pile up of characters, murder plots, conspiracies, odd locations, dreams, gimmicks, knives and masks, and while none of these feel like straightforward symbols of authorial expression there's obviously still something being worked out underneath that surface narrative, something warping all the pieces into new directions. The scene and the plot seem to abruptly change direction with every page; new characters are introduced and killed off again, constantly; the longest explanation of the plot we get is delivered by a lady with a cartoony moose-end-sqvirrel phonetic accent, but somehow it never loses either a sense of mysterious inner coherence or a sense of dread.

For me his middle period is from "Reflections Of A Glass Scorpion" (reprinted as "Mad Night") to "The Hidden". His art improves and he plays more with colour; the narratives slow down and there's more of a willingness to let them breathe. Characters become more important - my favourite is Judy Drood, the crazed Nancy Drew analogue crashing through a world of horror. Some of the books in this period feel less essential, as though having established what a "Richard Sala" comic would look like he was happy to spend a while doing the Richard Sala version of a vampire story, or an evil clown story, or a YA book. But he kept developing his style and "Delphine", towards the end of this period, is maybe his best single book: spare and serious and strange, as if he had reached a point in his craft where he no longer even needed to resemble himself.

But strangest of all is his late work, which maybe comes closest than most comics careers to the famous "late style" identified by Adorno in his essay. After increasingly subtle and quiet, almost slick, works, there's suddenly a return to the garish - rather than horror the model seems to be sleazy eurospy b-movies, the kind where masked girls in leotards run around machinegunning each other in underground bases. I don't think the biggest Richard Sala fan would think of him as primarily an action cartoonist but that's what we get here - panel after panel of firing handguns wildly into a crowd ("the simplest surrealist act" - andre breton) of milling henchmen, unkillable figures of vengeance running wild. And at the same time, just as startling, there's an abrupt and explicit emphasis on politics - the figures being shot are crowds of ghoulish Bush-era congressmen, executives, cops, sneering militia creeps, guffawing yuppies, movers and shakers. There's a sense of deliriously vindictive wish fulfilment that he's obviously having fun with, and what's not to love about a comic where a masked supervillain named Super-Enigmatix (shortened by the text as "S.Ex") breaks into the chambers of the Supreme Court to shoot the judges with a raygun known only as "the dissolver" in a single panel. But there's also a kind of sadness in the fury with which these characters are obsessively killed and re-killed; the flat, declarative way the political content declares itself has a kind of contempt, as if it weren't worth dressing up any other way. Rather than the politics of horror we have politics as horror, horror as the only form with which politics can adequately be represented.

Sala's last published work was "Poison Flowers & Pandemonium" - a collection of four(!) volumes unpublished at the time of his death, one of which is a collection of cavegirl-themed cheesecake art a character in the book itself winningly describes as "the dumbest thing i've ever read". The first book, a sequel to the late period work "The Bloody Cardinal", is one of his best - tensely paced and cohesive despite swerving crazily across genres, characters and settings (and also involving an evil mummy who exists in two dimensions). But the very last book, Fantomella, haunts me the most. It takes place in a world where the murderers have won - a vaguely futuristic tower in which dumb, bullying assholes, in costumes that are unsettling combinations of paramilitary gear, medieval torturer outfits and old-timey superhero costumes, spend their days in inscrutable violence or tangled, careerist infighting. The heroine, the title character, climbs up the tower level by level and kills absolutely everyone who gets in her way. The guys in the tower bicker and betray each other and bark orders over walkie talkies and then die and die and die; it's as though, having spent the last decade establishing a whole imaginative taxonomy of These Types Of Guy, there were no need for them anymore; they could be erased, one by one, in the perfunctory way of a henchman being offed in the final five minutes of a cheap film. Eventually Fantomella gets to the top of the tower; there's an ending reminiscent of stated lifetime influence Franz Kafka. Did I mention that this book is placed right after the sexy cavegirl story? Art can be powerful, when we let it be.

Mike Mignola, Guy Davis, John Arcudi - yeah, from B.P.R.D. These are spinoffs from Mignola's own Hellboy comics, and as will be the case with spinoffs I think they never quite got the respect of those other books. They're less quiet, less offbeat - they lack the quality in Hellboy of a mysterious folktale logic that we're barely able to glimpse. But that's the thing for me - in Hellboy many characters have some kind of knowledge that they act on, often piecemeal or imperfectly. What makes B.P.R.D. distinct is the sense that nobody knows what's happening at all; not the heroes, not the villains. Stuff just happens and happens and happens and maybe later on some of it is concluded in ways nobody notices because they're dealing with some other shit - the bits of narrative closure we get are as abrupt and unwilled as a long-forgotten gun that suddenly goes off. Maybe someone will accidentally glimpse the resolution of some other thing they had no idea was happening, in the shape of e.g. a nazi millionaire in a homemade skeleton outfit being pulled screaming beneath the earth by a plague of human frogs. Who was that? There's no time to worry about it, because the world is ending.

There's a lot of these comics and I can never keep track of what order they're in, but I want to suggest that one of the deep pleasures of longform serial narrative is reading it out of order and trying to figure out what's going on. You'll see someone pop up for a panel or die or do something of unexplained importance to the rest of the book and then keep going and maybe read an earlier one where you glimpse the setup that you saw finally paying off - if you can still remember. It's maybe an odd one for me to recommend, as someone who aggressively does not care about apocalypse shit, or military shit, or lovecraft shit. But in addition to the fun characters and offbeat storytelling and Guy Davis's typically great art I think what made this stick with me so much was an odd formal parallel, between the slow, shambolic, weirdly believable end of the world it depicts and the nature of serial storytelling itself. Details pile up, beyond our ability to keep track or notice them. The doomed task of remembering, of cultivating the little pile of our perceptions as they spill out and roll away, feels horribly similar to the efforts of the characters to hold a catastrophe in place; a catastrophe that no-one really seems to know the start or meaning of but that we're all stuck living out regardless.

It's a longrunning comic so there are lots of issues. You can try following it from the start and still find after a certain point that you no longer have any idea of what's happening, that "the start" is itself not really the start, just the latest in a series of dubiously reliable origin stories that seem to have no lower bound. You can spend a lot of time on wikis trying to combine the pieces and figure it out, just like the characters in the comic, the ones who inevitably end up going "AIIIEEE!" as they're blown up by a big machine or by some cosmic thingamabob they only realise too late they maybe never really got. Or maybe if you're lucky you can be a bit-part character; here in some pages, missing in others, with fate uncertain, deferred by an error in issue numbering, or a failure of memory.

[always-just-down-the-street]

INANIMATE INSANITY 16 SPOILERS AHEAD!

ALSO EYESTRAIN WARNING!

Also this fan-art is based on the theory I made here, so please read this before checking out the fan-art below!

You beg MePhone to say he's lying. That you're real, that you were never supposed to win, that your conquest to save everyone from themselves hasn't been anything short of the only lie bigger than your continued existence. You try to think back to who you used to be and you can't, it hurts so much, she's dead and it's your fault, you knew you were unsalvageable but you didn't know it permeated so far into your being. The gilded cage you lost the key to. You feel yourself crack again and you pray it'll be quick but no, you just sit there, broken, crying, screaming. A winner forced into the role of the villain, the liar, the freakshow.

The only grace you can hope for is that if you go completely insane, maybe you'll finally be more like her again.

You stare at her. You see every day you had fun with her back in the first season, when things were simple and the world felt like it actually made sense. When you weren't burdened by the knowledge of what you really are. You can't help but laugh- why should you be so surprised? You were only ever meant to take the shape of the vessel you were given, who cared if it was a physical one or not? You think back to every day you saw her in the corner of your eye, watching you prance around in the hotel you stole from her. In the life you stole from her. She missed that and she missed them but she definitely did not miss you. You wouldn't even be surprised if she hates you, and the worst part is she has every right to. MePhone wanted you to be the villain, the person everyone hates, but things went wrong and she was forced to take that role instead. But now the truth is out. Her last good deed was saving you from yourself. You're still the villain.

And somehow you're the most surprised of them all.

-

The joy of being an artist and a theorist is that sometimes I get such a cool idea I can express it in both ways.

Yes, this is a sequel to my Netflix Trip picture with Knife and Suitcase, this time featuring our season one finalists OJ and Taco and Kikuo's Hole-Dwelling! (Originally it was Puppet Loosely Strung by The Correspondents but Hole-Dwelling actually goes INSANE with the theory.) It's based on the theory that I had posted of last, which (and I might go back to the original post to add this) I have now given an official title: The Misremembered Lanes Theory! Or AU, if this gets deconfirmed. You never know! But yeah, it is named after the Season 1 finale.

Just like last time, the models were done in Blockbench, this one was a lot harder because I had to wrangle with stuff like OJ's transparency, trying to pick the right face/expression for Taco- there was a version of this image where Taco had just gone. Completely mad/feral, but it didn't look as good as I wanted it to...but, I think I finally got around to a fun result in the end. Speaking of fun facts, my favorite little design thing I did for this: OJ and Taco's strings are colored like each other! Puppets literally and helplessly ensnared in each other's role. :)

Plus I already have an idea of who I might do a piece of next, so that'll be fun! So I hope you all enjoy this piece as much as you did the last piece and the theory itself, all fan-art is appreciated, and thank you for reading this far!

[pekoehoneyncream]

Ghoaptober # 31

Prompt: Knife

Words: 1500~

TW: Allusions to Torture (sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

This is the last one folks! All good things must come to an end, I suppose. This has been really fun to do! It's been great to stretch my writing skills, I feel like I improved over the course of the month, at least I hope I did, I definitely had to do less grammar and spelling corrections as we progressed, so there's that.

I wanted to thank everyone who's left such kind comments for me, you're feedback really does mean the world to me, Thank You!

If you want me to write more please do drop me an ask, I'd love to hear from you!

And with all of that said, onto the fic

Enjoy!

A shriek echoed out from the microscopic kitchenette crammed into the back of the disused officer’s rec room that the one-four-one had co-opted, Ghost and Price launched off the sagging sofa towards the noise. They charged into the kitchenette, Ghost wielding a knife and Price his hand-gun, ready to end any threat to their Sergeants.

There was no threat, just Soap trying to hide his awkward blush in his mug of coffee while Gaz stared at him with something close to abject horror. 

“Tav, mate, what the fuck is wrong with your tongue.” Gaz demanded, willfully ignoring that he’d just screamed like an arachnophobe confronting Shelob and the fact that his superiors hadn't hesitated in running to his hypothetical rescue. 

Price huffed and reholstered his gun, Ghost putting away his knife much more slowly. “Just what exactly is going on?” He demanded with an edge to his voice that suggested he was already regretting that he’d asked, “Why are you screaming over Soap’s tongue?”

“Well, Cap,” Soap started with a lewd tilt of his eyebrows and a goading grin,

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gaz cut over him with a biting tone, “but, I didn’t expect to be confronted by the fact that Soap is an actual fuckin’ demon on a casual Thursday afternoon, Price.”

“Garrick, we talked about this,” Price scolded,

“Yeah,” Ghost agreed, “Johnny can’t be a demon, his rosary'd burn him.”

“Wha!” Soap sputtered in sheer disbelief, “Youse thought Ah’m a demon?!”

“No one’s that lucky, Tav.” Gaz said with flat seriousness, “There’s gotta be some kinda something going on.” 

“Would a deal with a demon make you demonic?” Ghost mused in an exaggeratedly ponderous tone, casting his gaze up to the ceiling tiles so that the flabbergasted expression Soap’s face was stretching into couldn't make him laugh.

Gaz perked up, snapping and pointing at Ghost in a eureka-esque motion, “Yes! That’s totally it!” He exclaimed, practically bouncing on his toes with his triumph. 

“Riley-”

“I cannae make a deal wit’ a demon!” Soap cut over Price, slamming his mug down to free up his hands for incensed gesturing, “Mah Grannie would disown me!” 

“Then how do you explain-” Gaz flailed a hand in the direction of Soap’s mouth, lacking the words to describe just what in fuck was going on in there, “-that!”

A look of cartoonish offence slid onto Soap’s face. Ghost watched him brace his hands on his hips and draw himself up to his full height, hamming it up. Trying to make it into an easily deflected joke. Concern kicked at the back of Ghost’s sternum, if Johnny was deflecting it meant the real answer was nothing good. 

Ghost had learned early on that Johnny was one of the most open, shameless, oversharing freaks that walked this earth. He had watched Johnny laugh his way through retelling stories and anecdotes that would have sent consummate exhibitionists blushing through the floor on multiple occasions. Ghost had also been quick to cotton on to the fact that it was for the best to follow up on the topics that Johnny tried to deflect, as they were generally things that would have a therapist crying and Johnny really was better off getting them off his chest. Ghost usually let it go and tried to circle back around to those deflections when they were alone and Johnny was feeling safe, but with Gaz latched onto this like a starved dog with a butcher bone, that wasn’t an option. 

Sure, Ghost could probably distract Gaz and help Johnny wiggle out of this, but debriding old wounds is always a good team bonding experience. 

Gaz and Soap had stagnated into their usual pattern of bandying insults back and forth. Having a grand time of pretending to be sputtering in high dudgeon whenever the other would quip back with something particularly clever. Ghost cut his eyes to Price, and jerked his chin at Johnny upon catching the Captain’s eye. 

Yes, Ghost wanted Johnny to talk about it, but he didn’t want his boyfriend upset with him either. 

“Right,” Price cut in after giving Ghost a roundly rancorous look, “Soap, why is Garrick accusing you of having a demonic tongue. Without!” He hastily amended when Soap turned overblown fuck-me eyes on him, “any chirpsing if you would.”

“Aye, right. Uh-” Soap hesitated, staring down at his feet and rubbing at his nape as he tried to gather the right words to explain this, “Reckon he mean’ this.” He gave up and just stuck his tongue out. 

Soap could admit that he got a bit of a kick out of watching their uncomprehending looks warp into horrified incredulity when his tongue split down the middle. He wiggled the two sides up and down in opposite directions of each other and briefly twined them into a coil to drive the image home, then retracted it back behind the safety of his teeth with as much casual finesse as he could muster. 

There was a beat of silence, then a cavalcade of questions. Soap’s personal favourite was Ghost’s ‘how did I not notice?’ said in the tone of a man on the edge of a revelatory breakdown. A close second was Price’s muttered ‘that can’t be within regs.”, but topping the charts for sheer volume was Gaz.

“What!” He shrieked, “What the fuck! When’d you get that!?” his voice dripped with a queer mix of awe, horror, and morbid fascination. 

Soap hummed uncertainly, casting his mind back, swallowing against the phantom taste of blood creeping up his throat to pool at the back of his mouth, “Mus’ a been aroun' twenty-sixteen? Some’hing like tha’,”

“Twenty-sixteen.” Price muttered, mentally rifling through Soap’s file, there was something about that year that had the klaxons spinning up in Price’s subconscious, “Not October twenty-sixteen?” 

“Aye,” Soap nodded, keeping his eyes on the ground, “Tha’d be the one.”

“Corporal MacTavish was detained by enemy forces eighth October twenty-sixteen and was successfully recovered twelfth October twenty-sixteen. In enemy custody, Corporal MacTavish was subjected to physical maltreatment, most notably manifesting in substantial damage within the oral cavity. Injury permanent but non-disfiguring. Corporal MacTavish states that no intelligence was provided to the adversary while in custody.” Price quotes -impressively word for word- from the truncated after action report that had been the script for far too many of his nightmares, “That October twenty-sixteen?” 

“Got ‘er in one, Cap.” Soap confirms, idly grinding his tongue between his teeth, “Yanno, they did offer tae fix it. The medics.” He spoke on just to break the heavy silence that had conquered the room, “But they’d have had tae open it up again, cause it’d been cauterized, so Ah said no' tae bother.”

They'd told him that as it was a 'non-invasive procedure' only local numbing would be provided and Soap would not be letting anyone else come at his tongue with a knife unless he was unconscious, dead, or dying. 

“Tav," Gaz pressed out slowly, hesitantly, “That’s fucked, mate.”

“Aye,” Soap nodded, staring down at the kitchenette’s cheap linoleum. Blinking to force the floor back into dingy tiles when his brain tried to twist it into stained concrete. He huffed a small flat laugh, more to force the scent of iron and dank stone from his nose than anything else, “Aye, twasn’t mah idea ae fun neither.”

“Johnny,” Ghost drew his name out into a devastated whine and lunged forward to coil around Soap in a protective embrace. Heart splitting at the shakiness he could feel in Johnny’s shallow breaths as he clutched his boyfriend to his chest. 

“Ah’m alrigh’,” Johnny assured, but the tear-fighting sniff he tried to conceal in Ghost’s pecs said something different. 

“You’re alright,” Price agreed, lay a grounding hand on Soap’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Gaz poked at Soap’s sensitive sides to force a wet giggle out of him, “Course you’re alright, Tav. You’ve got us and if those fucks aren’t already dead I’m sure Ghost is drafting up like ten different plans for how to track ‘em down and kill ‘em slow.”

Ghost was glad that Gaz’s joking was making Johnny feel better, and gave an intrigued pensive hum into the fluff of his warhawk to play along. 

It was actually fifteen different plans. 

“Okay. Okay.” Soap barked, shaking them off once he was absolutely positive that he wasn’t about to start bawling like a bairn as soon as they let go, “Mah goddamn coffee’s gonnae be fuckin’ cold now ye muckers.” 

“Do you want me to make you a new cup, so you don't have to microwave it?” Ghost offered, love surging within him for the wide blue eyes that swung his way. 

“Would ye, mo chridhe?” Johnny begged prettily. 

Ghost hooked a thumb under his balaclava, lifting it over his mouth just long enough to press an adoring kiss unto Johnny’s lips, then turning away to make him the promised fresh cuppa, fluidly stealing his mug to dump and refill it.

Both men were content to ignore the way Gaz faked a retch over their sappy mush, as he practically stepped on Price’s heels following after the Captain on his tactical retreat back to the sofa.

Thank You For Reading!

Some nice hurt/comfort to round off the month. It didn't make it into the fic but the reason that his captors split Soap's tongue is because he wouldn't stop talking back, just a fun fact for y'all.

Did anyone want me to make a masterlist for all of these? with ratings and short descriptions or something? there's already links to the full series on my masterlist, but that just has the prompts, so I was wondering if a masterlist would be helpful. Let me know!

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

[novasdarling]

"What are you gonna do? Kill me?"

With yanfeitan please

I made Feitan talk here more than I think I ever have, so hope that's not a problem.

Kill Me

TW: Kidnapping Mentioned, Yandere Behaviour, Violence mentioned (Punishment), Knife, Threats

The air felt thick, heavy with guilt and anger. Whose anger and guilt you weren't sure of. His or yours? Perhaps both. The way he stared at you from across the room made you want to yell, scream, something. Something to break his silence and get him to move. Get him to react. Get him to change any way you can. His silence made you want to tear your skin off. It allowed no answer, no hint of what he was thinking or what would come next.

"What's my punishment this time?"

Feitan didn't answer, just continuing to stare at you. Keeping his distance. He was off, even by his own standards. Cold and quiet was how he was, but this was different. This version of him made you uncomfortable at a level you had never been with him. Made you terrified more than before.

You had run and managed to escape for about an hour before Feitan dragged you back to his hideout. The place you had been forced to call home for the last few weeks. It wasn't the first time you had run, but it was the first time you managed to slip from his grasp for so long. You knew that would piss him off. You showed him his flaws, that you could leave, that he had weaknesses.

"Going to lock me away again? Lock me in a closet for a few days with barely any food, huh?"

You were provoking him, it was wrong, but at least then you would know what the hell he wanted. What his plan of punishment was.

"You going to-"

"Basement, now."

The basement. Those words made you want to throw up. You knew what went on down there. What his hours down there with some unfortunate soul meant. Feitan had taken you down once, when he first brought you here. He didn't explain why, just told you to sit still as he engaged with his prisoner. You were forced to see the blood, watch how he cut and stabbed with no remorse. Even when you shut your eyes, that didn't get rid of the screams. The pleas for mercy, for him to stop. Even for you to help. There was nothing you could do. That's what Feitan wanted to prove. You were helpless against men like him, against him.

"No, Pl-"

Feitan turned towards you, cutting you off with his look. He still had his icy stare, but this one was telling you not to challenge him. That things were different, were worse than ever before. Feitan turned to head towards the stairs. Expecting you to follow on your own. It would be wise to. To comply until he was finished with whatever he was plotting. Perhaps it would earn you some leniency. Maybe it would cut the punishment short. You told yourself that as you took a step forward, but something else stopped you. Something made you turn and quickly grab a dull knife from the kitchen. Stupid thoughts that knew the truth yet had no real plan. There was no real mercy with Feitan when you messed up. No early forgiveness from him. Just lesson and punishment. If you went down there with him, you could die.

Adrenaline rushed through you as you held the knife up. Pointing it to him like it would offer you any actual protection. Offer you any safety from the monster in front of you. Yet, there you were. Still holding, pointing it at him. Like it was a cross offering you protection against an unholy beast. But God wouldn't answer your prayers. Not today, not when he seemed to fear the man in front of you so.

Feitan turned towards you. Staring as he took in the sight before him. You holding a dulled knife he left up here for you to be able to cut your food. Holding it, pointing it at him with shaking hands and uneven breaths. He could make out the tears falling from your eyes and sliding down your cheeks. Pathetic and yet, enticing. You always reminded him of a sacred trapped animal and this just cemented it. A frighted field mouse trying to distance itself from an owl. With nowhere to hide and no real defence, yet still hoping. Still trying to get away. Simply just delaying what is to come.

"I'm not going to the basement. I-"

You were cut off by him. Feitan made his move across the room towards you. He moved faster than you had ever seen, faster than you thought anything could. You were still holding the knife, but now it pointed at an empty doorway. While Feitan moved behind you. Keeping you in place, holding your arms so they kept the same position as his chest leaned against your back. Pushing you towards him.

"What was your plan?"

You couldn't give him an answer.

"What are you gonna do? Kill me?"

He gripped your arms tighter. Still holding the knife at nothing.

"What then?"

"I-I-"

"I-I-I" He mocked you "Have a plan next time."

Feitan took the knife from your hands before letting go. Making his way back towards the basement. You had made things worse. Made whatever was to come down those steps so much worse. You had threatened and offended him. Following him down, you hoped this punishment would be cut short due to a phantom troupe call. It was the only mercy that would be granted.

[puffin-smoke]

redactedtober 11!! this one is pretty long, so I hope you enjoy! It gets very sappy at the end, so be prepared.

David; Dance

Gabe raised David surrounded by music.

No matter the occasion, whether it be teaching his son how to cook a specific dish or doing homework or just milling meaninglessly about the house, Gabe would pull out his box of records at the drop of a hat. Silence had never been tolerated in the Shaw household.

Things has gotten quiet after his mate had died. David had been two years old, barely old enough to understand his own name but somehow old enough to understand that things had changed. David had cried so much when he was born, he'd screamed and thrashed and nearly bitten the poor nurse that'd been helping the family.

Since her death? Not a word. Quiet blanketed the house, what was supposed to be a comfort turning suffocating.

So Gabe took that blanket and shredded it. Metaphorically.

Not a spare moment was left to silence. The voices of the greats filled the void where her laughter should have been, the heady thrum of the bass guitar in place of her voice, the steady rhythm of a drumbeat to replace the sound of her footsteps. They were hollow imitations but they were something. And he needed something, he needed David to grow up with at least the barest traces of her influence.

So music filled the house, and she was there. David was still quiet, but not silent. That was something different.

"Hey dad?"

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Who's that in the picture?"

David had been eight when had a growth spurt. Only around three inches, but it had been enough to peek his eyes over the kitchen counter, to investigate a land once alien and impenetrable to him. And the first thing he had seen was a photograph. Two people bound together by each others arms and a cheap wooden frame. One was his father, a younger, clean shaven version of him with flour dashed across his shirt and hair. The other was a woman, one he didn't recognise. Her face was slightly turned away from the camera, yet it was still clear she was smiling at his father. Beaming.

David wanted to know why that smile was so infectious. Why every time he so much as glanced at the picture he felt some phantom force pulling up the corners of his lips.

Gabe looked up from the vegetables he was preparing, eyes darting towards where David had gestured. He paused in the middle of slicing a carrot, inhaling a short breath. A beat passed, and then another, and just as David began to think his father might never move again, he set the knife down. His face was confliction personified, a puzzle built with too many layers. There was a faint smile on his lips, fond and gentle, but his eyes were hazy, far away. The woman's smile was reflected in his eyes like a ghost in a window, like a memory given form.

"That's your mom, David." His voice was barely a whisper.

"Oh." There was nothing more David could say. A simple Oh summed things up neatly.

For some reason Gabe thought there was more to say. Maybe it was an adult's innate compulsion to fill a lull in conversation, the very birth of small talk. Maybe it was time to teach David about the world's cruelty, it's tendency to rip away those you need the most, so it wouldn't hit him like a truck later on. Maybe it was something else, something he couldn't name but desperately wanted to.

That if he talked about her then she felt a little bit more real. Not some nice dream he could barely remember, but a person. Solid as anything. His home. He missed her. With everything he had he missed her.

His smile widened almost imperceptibly as he spoke. "This was- whenever I'd get home from work and see your mother in the kitchen, I'd put on this one record-"

His eyes lit up like tinder. For a moment he was perfectly still, almost statuesque. That moment passed and he was more animated that David had ever seen him before, pushing away from the kitchen counter and half-walking, half-sprinting towards the living room. "I swear I still have it somewhere around here..."

David craned his neck and watched his father pull out a dust-covered box of records from the shelf underneath the TV, a different one to what David had usually seen, the one nestled in a corner. He rummaged through it for a few moments, thumbing through vibrant and simplistic album colours alike until David heard a muffled "Aha!" erupt from just beyond the doorway.

He emerged from the living room holding a record David hadn't seen before. It was clearly ancient; the cover it was held in was rapidly crumbling and the yellow design was muted behind layers upon layers of dust; but despite all that, the record itself was completely clean, no dust or fingerprints to speak of. He handled it like he was carrying a precious artefact, deftly placing it onto the record player. He adjusted the needle, pressed a button, and after a moment or so, a pair of voices range out across the kitchen.

I know, I stand in line until you think you have the time to spend an evening with me~

It all came rushing back in that moment. The softness of her skin, the smell of whatever food she'd been making. The curl of her hair, the light in her eyes. It was like she was there, right there, home, smiling at him.

And if we go some place to dance, I know that there's a chance you won't be leaving with me~

"I would put it on and sneak up behind her, and- and put my arms around her. And she would laugh." The words fell from his mouth like water. He didn't even realising he was speaking. "We would stay like that for a little bit, until- until, she'd start singing along."

She had such a beautiful voice. She'd start of soft, as though singing a lullaby, until her voice was all he knew. All he ever wanted.

Then afterwards we drop into a quiet little place and have a drink or two~

"...I'd sing with her, and... eventually we'd dance."

And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like 'I love you'~

He trailed off. It was like she was there, but he knew better. She was a trick of the light. He knew better.

"Dad? Are you crying?"

Gabe blinked and she was gone. He touched his face, wiping away the tears he didn't even know had fell. They didn't stop. There was a lump in his throat. "...yeah."

"Oh." David got up and hugged his father. He barely came up to Gabe's waist.

The family stood in silence for few moments, letting the music fill the air.

"I love you, dad."

"Love you too, kiddo."

It had been a long day. A long week, really, but this had been the day to well and truly top them all. A frustrating job with frustrating clients. When David finally got home that evening he didn't even have the energy to be annoyed.

"Angel, I'm home." He announced to the empty air, dumping his bag onto the kitchen counter. No response, save the faint music echoing down from upstairs.

Following the trail of notes, David climbed their stairs and approached their bedroom, the music slowly getting louder and louder as he went. Exhaustion clung to his limbs as he turned the doorknob.

Clothing was laid out semi-neatly on the bed, in piles of varying sizes and tidiness. The laundry basket was left discarded at the foot of the bed, emptied. A phone; his mate's phone, covered in an excessive amount of stickers; was haphazardly nestled among cushions, music blaring from it at the highest volume.

Cause all of the small things that you do, are what remind me why I fell for you~

And there was his mate. His Angel. Something in his chest ached almost painfully the moment he laid eyes on them, a pang of longing he couldn't ignore.

They hummed along to the music, a grin plastered across their features as they somewhat successfully organised the laundry. They swayed to the beat, not hearing the door open, nor David's approaching footsteps.

And when we're apart, and I'm missing you~

That feeling in his core urged him forward. He crept up behind them, and wrapped his arms around them, throwing them over their shoulders. He nestled his face into the crook of their neck, prompting a small gasp, quickly followed by a short chuckle. "Davey?"

Reluctant to move from his perch on their back, he mumbled into their skin. He had missed them. With everything he had, he'd missed them. "Mhm."

Their hand migrated up to his, clasping it like he was a pendant around their neck. "Long day?"

"Yeah."

They nodded, letting him hang there, their humming returning. A comfortable silence settled over the room, a warmth, a tenderness. It seeped into his limbs and painted the world golden. It carried away his frustration, the tension coiling in his limbs. He was home. They were here.

And so he did something he would have considered entirely stupid five years ago. And would probably consider stupid in the morning.

He let his arms fall off of his mate, and moved to stand in front of them, grabbing their hand as he went. They grinned at him, confused, of course, but intrigued. They laced their fingers with his, their grip firm and sure.

He let one hand drift down to their waist, inclining his head as though to ask if that were okay, to which they nodded, only slightly hesitantly. And with that he began to sway, his hand on their hip guiding them through the motions.

I close my eyes and all I see is you, and all the small things you do~

Their smile never fell for a second as they cocked their head. "What are you doing?"

He came to an abrupt stop, the shame he'd wanted to leave for tomorrow morning falling across him in waves. This was stupid. "Sorry, I- fuck, what am I doing-"

Their hand came up to cup his cheek, their thumb stroking his stubble. "Aw, Davey- come on, I didn't mean stop." They leaned forward until their foreheads were touching. "You could've just asked if you wanted to dance, you big sap."

There was a laugh in his voice, even as he grumbled. The ache in his chest had returned. "Shut up."

All the small things you do.

[ravennaortiz]

Ghostface: Mayans Version

This is the Mayans Version of my Sons of Anarchy Ghostface from last year. It will be one of the starter stories for the choose your own adventure that drops on 10/31. As always 18+ Smut below

“Your package is here” called EZ with a smirk and laugh as he tossed a box to Bishop. “Don’t start boy” replied Bishop sternly as he caught the box. “I’m not” replied EZ as he held his hands up innocently. “Just saying when you tell me you’re having weird role paly stuff sent to my house cause you’re an ancient relic with a 20 something girlfriend….. I get to have a little fun” he replied as he dodged away as Bishop tried to hit him. “Is that jealousy I hear Boy Scout? Old man is tapping what the young buck swung out and missed on? Replied Bishop with a laugh as EZ rolled his eyes and flipped him off. “Don’t have a heart attack tonight “called EZ as Bishop got his bike to head home.

*

“Hello Corazon” called Bishop as he walked into the kitchen where you were cooking. “Hey babe! Dinners almost done” you replied turning to him as you finished stirring the soup on the stove. “Smells good. I’m going to clean up real quick” he replied before heading off down the hall. A few minutes later you were turning the stove off when you heard Bishop urgently call your name.

“Bishop?” you called as you pushed your bedroom door open confused at the emptiness. Before you could turn around you were pulled back against a hard body causing you to scream before you felt the cold metal of a knife at your throat. Adrenaline coursed through you as you stood locked in place. “Shh mi amor. I won’t hurt you. Do as I say and you will be fine” murmured a voice you barely recognized as your old mans in your ear. The grip on you loosened as you were turned to face him. Your eyes fell on the ghostface mask and you felt heat course through you. “Strip” ordered Bishop as he trailed the knife from your throat down your chest and stomach causing you to shiver. Your hands shook with anticipation as you ripped your clothes off.

Several minutes later you were on your knees, hands tied behind your back with his belt. Bishop was roughly thrusting into your mouth as he gripped your hair in one hand forcing you to look up at his masked face. The fabric of the black robe he wore billowed around you with each snap of his hips as he slid himself further down your throat. He loved how your makeup ran down your face as tears poured from your shining eyes, your gorgeous lips puffy and wrapped around his cock as you sucked the soul out of him. You squirmed and whined as you watched him tilt his head back as he moaned as he continued his assault on your mouth. Trying to get Bishops attention that you needed him between your thighs you gently bit down. You let out a yelp at the sharp sting to your cheek from his slap. “Mi amor” he warned as he stilled inside your mouth. He had both hands on the back of your head pulling you onto his thick length as he watched you struggle to breathe around him. When your vision started to tunnel he pulled out.

You gasped trying to suck air into your starved lungs before you felt his roughed grip on your arms as he yanked you up and pushed your top half roughly onto the bed. You stilled and let out a little moan as you felt the cold metal of the knife slide slowly through your slick folds. “So wet for me corazon” purred Bishop as he tossed the knife to the side and slid two fingers into you making you jump. “Bishop” you moaned as you pushed back on him to get more friction. “So eager to be fucked by a killer.” Chuckled Bishop as he brought his other palm down onto your ass making you jump and clench around his fingers. Bishop pulled his fingers from you causing you to pout at the loss of sensation. “Please” you begged as you tried to wiggle back but were stilled by another smack to your ass. “Is this what you want?” teased Bishop as he slid his tip through your wet folds before pulling away. “Yes” you replied eagerly as you tried to stay still. “Yes what?” asked Bishop. “Yes daddy. Please fuck me” you replied knowing what he wanted. Without hesitation Bishop thrusted into you all at once as he gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. “Bishop “you moaned as he thrusted into you at a relentless pace, burying himself deeper and deeper into you with every thrust. You were an incoherent mess as your eyes rolled back as he hit that sweet spot over and over bringing you to the edge. “Come now” ordered Bishop as he felt you start to clench around him tighter as he delivered another sharp stinging slap to your ass. You screamed through your release as you gushed around him, Bishop kept his pace up for another moment before he came deep inside of you. After a moment of catching your breaths Bishop slipped his mask off, leaning down to kiss the small of your back before undoing his belt. “Good girl” he murmured as he rubbed your stiff arms and pulled out of you. “Clean her up when you’re done” you heard Bishop state before you felt yourself get turned over on the bed. “Have fun Corazon” called Bishop before leaving the room as another Ghostface climbed on top of you.

Return to Masterlist

[rabbitblackx]

No worries, bestie, I gotchu

TL;DR of what I remember: Any slashers you'd like (Including Michael Myers just to satiate my own needs lol, if you write for the RZ version, that'd be incredible but if not that's also fine) with an S/O who deals with their fear through extreme humor and laughing so hard they can't breathe (akin to the "Look at this dude" guy. I'll get you the video if you need it)

Thanks sm for being patient with me🫠💖 I hope u don’t mind I only did rz mikey cuz my dumbass didn’t know how to incorporate this into a plot😭😽

RZ!Michael with a Reader that copes with fear through humour

Michael broke into your home at night. You were still up watching tv when you heard him shuffling through the kitchen. You were terrified to know what was lurking in the dark room

As you slowly crept off the couch to investigate, a nervous chuckle left your lips. You had a bad habit of laughing and cracking jokes in scary situations like this

“Yo, dude. Wrong crib.” You blurted out

You stuck your hand through the doorway, flicking on the light of the kitchen. You stood there dumbfounded at the sight of Michael Myers in your home, blood dripping from his knife. As much as you wanted to scream, you sputtered out a hesitant laugh instead

“This is some dumb prank, right?” You giggled, backing away out of the kitchen. Michael menacingly trailed after you. “You’re breaking a lotta boundaries here. I’m gonna call the cops.” You warned

You were still trying to convince yourself that this was some big joke. This was Haddonfield, after all. The ‘trick’ in trick or treating was year around here. But when this tall, masked man began to breathe scarily heavy right in your face, you knew better. You finally went to scream, but then furrowed your brow as you got a better look at his worn mask in the dark. It looked awfully familiar

“Dude—is that William Shatner?” You asked

You bursted into laughter, wheezing as tears tried to escape your eyes. Michael tilted his head to the side, angrily gripping his knife until his knuckles turned white. You wanted to stop laughing but you couldn’t. You clutched your stomach through your pjs as you continued to hysterically do so

“Ohhh, my god.” You gasped for air

Every time you looked at him, your laughter only grew harder. Just the way his mask looked so unimpressed with you nearly made you piss yourself

All of a sudden, you hilariously lifted up your hand, and gave Michael the Vulcan salute from Star Trek

“The needs of the many!”

That made you cry with laughter. You thought you were so funny

“HAHAHAHA!”

Your knees buckled and you soon found yourself lying on the floor, wheezing while holding your aching belly

Michael was so pissed off with you in that moment. But for once in his horrible life, he refrained from killing. You couldn’t get too excited though, as he would be back for you

You didn’t even notice Michael turn away and head out the same way he broke in. You were too busy laughing at your own jokes on the floor like an idiot

As absolutely woeful you were to him, the man was somehow intrigued by you. You were a total nut, but he had seen worse. Michael’s idea was to come back tomorrow night, so he could finish you off for real

He would be more quiet with sneaking in then, this time not moving around so much. He would creep up behind you when you least expected it, and then slice his knife into your stupid back

Who’s laughing now?

[ladythornofrivia]

👹 Match Made In Hell 👹 || Aemond x Reader (My Demon AU) (Part Three)

Next Chapter

🍒 a/n: this series is inspired by k-drama, and it’ll deviates from the canon, but still had the same atmosphere as the netflix version. i’m so sorry it took so long to update a new chapter!

🍒summary: reader, who has now made pact with the devil, must face the difficulties by the likes of her surroundings, and Aemond, who took pleasure on tormenting her, even divulge his dirty thoughts.

🍒 warning: Dark!Aemond, violence, blood, misogyny, mentions of cheating, Aemond is a demon in a fic, he’s a d*ckhead, but charming, reader is a b*tch, spoiled brat, smut, action sequences, oral sex, rough sex, public sex, hotel sex, hate sex, contract, blood kink, religion themes, knife play, sexual tension, Aemond in a red suit, money kink, p in v sex, breeding kink, sex in the club, sex in a hospital bed, toxic relationship, fake relationship, possessive Aemond, obsession, jealousy, stalking, blackmail, dom/sub relationship, wet dream, cunnilingus, fingering, squiriting, reader is a virgin, aemond is experienced, moaning, reader and aemond being horny, 69, lotus, sex on the wall, praise kink, creampie, daddy kink. Demon!Aemond has powers, but needs reader to fuel and restore his power. The story from the show will be different in fanfic. Inspired by K-Drama “My Demon”.

Chapter Three: Heiress’s Bitch

Afar from a thickened crowd of paparazzis and reporters, on the left side of the corner, there was Aemond, in a fanciful suit of black and green with gold-embroidered scarf hung loosely around his neck, leaning and beaming as his violet eye watched the spectacle, and you on the platform, microphone on the podium, distress overwhelmed you, attempting to cooperate on various questions, concentrating. Accidentally eyeing on a one-eyed devil, a former prince regent to the Greens, only for him to withhold the possession of your thin lacy pink thong that was once clinging between your legs, with his tongue licking over his gleaming, fanged teeth.

“You may now suffer and keep your empty, prideful head high as you wish, but soon I shall have a taste of you, my little angel,” his thoughts penetrated in your head.

The Devilish Prince is waiting outside the fitting room. And it bugged you to a point you want to strangle yourself to death. If Aemond wanna-be decides to torment by reviving you back, you have another chance to get rid of yourself again.

Why on Earth did he decide to pick you, or pick on you—you’re unsure. Thoughts stifled yet jumbled all at once that you hadn’t realized your top sleeve slipped from your shoulder, and your pink satin skirt is crooked, tilted on one side. Everything went wrong. So wrong all you crave at this current moment is to sleep or eat fast food or drink away. Or possibly thinking about crawling up to a hole and die. Or somewhat in that order.

You still couldn’t register in your head that Aemond Targaryen—as a devil—would step into your life—audacious and malicious! And superstitious!

The audacity is real!

A real good one at that. Aemond, a total bastard—jerk—a former Prince Regent—is in your world—your real world—one true flesh. A fucking prick with a demonic stick up in between in his legs is here. As much as you admire Aemond in the series, despite his war criminal activities, his charisma oddly exuding through screen, you can’t help but admire, but seeing him now, has shrank your heart to hate thousand times fold.

And here you thought, being in a room with devilish jerk has set your heart of fire—and not in a romantic idealistic way. You wanted to stab him with a Dark Sister. Over and over and over and over again. You wanted to hear his scream, for what he did to you. It was unbearable. Your purity, your maintained image dwindled in a flash.

Why can’t it be Cregan Stark? Or Robb Stark? Or Jaime Lannister? Jaime Lannister—Kingslayer has devilish charm you couldn’t resist. The problem is, you’re not blonde enough. And you’re not Cersei or Brienne of Tarth.

What about Loki? The God of Mischief? He’d be perfect. Tom Hiddleston with a devilish scheming smile he beholds and puts everyone on a chokehold. But all you got is the Aemond the former Prince Regent.

In all days, you shouldn’t be nervous. In a fitting room, you are alone, with your heart pumping. In an unusual circumstance, you should be ecstatic with your new attires to a press conference. Press conference might boost your business—or lowers—depending on which answer. There are several conferences you’ve dealt or saw before. One is from Philippines, the other is from Italy.

It’s a hassle as it already is. The question is; why does your “attempted” suicide had to be announced? Who could possibly leak the information? More importantly, who started a commotion—an accusation of you being suicidal? Your soul is dying from stupidity everyday, not to a certain of killing yourself from someone stupid—maybe that’s another list of stupidity, but surely there’s more to it.

You never thought of dying once. You never thought of injuring yourself. Keeping your held up high by doing hard-work is ultimately the best. Self-care and fashion lifestyle goes second. You love yourself too much to make a “jump” for the sake of a stupid man—a wild mongrel who has more worth of acting like in a zoo than a quiet and lavish luxury.

Picking another attire, before slithering out from the top, large hands abruptly rotated you, pinned you against the wall and meet his eye—Aemond.

“Aemond, what are you—”

His lips plunged against yours. Those damnable smooth lips, drowning the squeak in your throat, one hand held your neck while the other pinned against the wall.

He pulled away, and undo your outfit in one swoop.

“I’m hungry for a moment, darling,” he purred, untucking his trousers. In between the opening, hardened cock stretched in the undo zipper, and your legs hiked around his waist, his body pressing you down until the space enclosed. Grunting, Aemond thrusts into your cunt, panting together.

“Aemond, not here,” you said in a strained tone.

“Shut up, you fucking cunt,” he said, biting your lower lip, drawing a wet scratch, taste of iron left in your mouth and his scathing teeth, as his pounded movements became sloppy and messy, heavy with breathing and muscles on his legs fatigued.

Nevertheless, he quickened his pace, and his semen spurted in your tight folds, leaving you breathless.

“Aemond, you—”

“Get dressed, stupid bitch,” he ordered, shoving you forcefully back on the wall. “Don’t make me repeat myself, little girl. Have your white outfit ready.”

Choking, your soft hands grasp against his, but not powerful enough. “I was going for pink—”

“Fucking bitch, I’m not asking you,” he seethed, hand strangled on your neck. “Did I not make myself clear?”

Under his grasp, your eyes blurred, chest constricted and deprived from air. “Why are you doing this? If you hate me that much, why did you decide to fuck me?”

“Isn’t obvious? You’re so hideously repulsive, I can’t stand the sight of your feeble appearance. That lousy and bratty mouth of yours needs to be shut. I can’t stand the noise—the sighs—you make in the fitting room.” He loosened you and watched you dropped on the ground. “A little girl like you has no place in a woman’s world.”

Absconded from the fitting room, tears ran down on your face. Picking yourself up off the ground, numbed fingers swiped across your wet cheeks.

Could he really be comparing you to someone else? There’s no way. Even in a form of a man, a devil’s no better beside the lousy man.

As you stepped out of the dressing room, the assistants had no expression but an obvious mark of reddened blush on their cheeks and neck, as Aemond had a scowl etched on his princely visage.

~~~

On a Sunday mass, everyone bowed their heads with prayer as the priest preached regarding to loving your enemies, and forgiving others’s sins. Though this is a quiet mass—a private mass, more like. As a sign of good luck. A prayer.

Aemond found it ridiculous. His eye stared and lanced at the back of your head as you kept yourself down, memorizing the priest’s words and its uniquely hymn.

Aemond, in his cherry red suit, kept an eye on the family. Blessed, no one is able to notice his true form except in a disguise of your butler.

“Let us pray,” the priest said, “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hollow be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven…”

Aemond never heard of prayers like this before. For him, it’s a fascination, but a grotesque sound in unison. The recital conjured him back to the days where Queen Alicent and Otto Hightower are highly dedicated to the Faith of the Seven, how his mother wore the ornaments of seven-pointed star on her lavish gowns in most days. King’s Landing’s walls were adorned in statues and stars—their holy grail to keep the place from evil’s perseverance.

To him, as a Westerossi, this is nothing new.

Aegon’s holy grail is drinking and whoring, while Helaena’s is her insects and her children she bore with brother-husband. Aemond’s holy grail is history, books, swordsmanship and Vhagar, the largest dragon in Westeros—he recalled it all too well. He figured that there were no dragons in this world—your world, but has airplanes and helicopters—that’s how you were transferred into the hospital, just down by the isolated beach, carrying you in his arms, unbothered if someone sees you and him strolling casually out from the deep waters. Despite all the deeds he has done, Aemond found your modern world amusingly impressed.

When the prayers are done, there was a bread and wine communion—again, new and beyond from Aemond’s religious practices in Westeros’s Old Gods and New, something about Jesus and his twelve disciples at the last supper. His eye watched over your feeble and small stature gracefully taking the offer. He eyed on the paintings. Scanning the room, you see nothing but marbled statues of historical figures and angels depicted from a human’s eye, paintings and depictions of Old Testament and New Testament in the Bible fascinated him more than his own religion, something about religious emanates soothing and sinister to the past testimonies in the past of mankind. If Faith of the Seven were decorated in paintings like this, maybe Aemond would’ve been convinced. He could’ve been as a sworn servant to the religion, a maester in a way—never to be wed, forever devoted to the goodwill of guidance to sinful peasants and subjects to the light.

Though, your mind differs. There weren’t any sincere prayers and mournful thoughts in your head, rather shrouded by a dark aura, something he can’t pinpointed. He watched you taken your seat as the mass hymn a song regarding to praising God.

And there, the Devil awaited.

~~~

As the future president of the AURORA company, you strolled and mounted inside the car—assurance within you is hanging by a thread, but you kept yourself in check, telling yourself that this won’t take a while. But beforehand, Aemond’s hand blocked you from entering the copper and black sports vehicle.

“Don’t touch my Vhagar,” he reminded, rather strictly. His violet eye gleamed—no, darkened within his short warning.

“Vhagar? Are you serious right now? I can open doors myself,” you shot back, the feeling of inadequacy hadn’t left in your chest since the fitting room on the previous day.

Aemond, without showing his obvious grimace, escorted you inside the car, lifting the car door in an upward direction, leading you inside the passenger’s seat and drove you all the way to the press conference.

~~~

For the press conference, things hadn’t been gone so smoothly. Paparazzis invaded the moment you arrived, dubbing you as “Miss Future President” of AURORA.

Reports bombarded you with useless inquiries and what outfit you were wearing. Obviously you wanted the people to focus on your outfit more than your “suicidal attempt”. As for Aemond, hands on his back, striding alongside you until you reached the platform with your pink suit with gold buttons and your simplistic threads of gold bracelets and thin necklace on your neckline, your hair tied up in a low ponytail, long framed bangs slightly tucked (hair reference).

“Are you ready to set hell on stage, Miss Future President,” Aemond mocked.

Nonetheless, you disdained him with cold shoulder, and stepped onward to the clear-glass podium, formally address the issue to a recent event. Cameras clicked and reporters typing on their laptops, then you began to speak in two languages, which Aemond doesn’t recognize, nonetheless his curiosity piqued.

Endless topics from reporters came, already slandering accusations disguised as questions, but you handled it well.

Rabbit questions like regarding to comparing your nightly activities to your ex-fiancé, how both are reckless and childish—nepotism. Then partying, then other scandals that are once addressed as false had been brought up again—their resolved minds can sometimes fickle.

Until…

Afar from a thickened crowd of paparazzis and reporters, on the left side of the corner, there was Aemond, in a fanciful suit of black and green with gold-embroidered scarf hung loosely around his neck, leaning and beaming as his violet eye watched the spectacle, and you on the platform, microphone on the podium, distress overwhelmed you, attempting to cooperate on various questions, concentrating. Accidentally eyeing on a one-eyed devil, a former prince regent to the Greens, only for him to withhold the possession of your thin lacy pink thong that was once clinging between your legs, with his tongue licking over his gleaming, fanged teeth.

“You may now suffer and keep your empty, prideful head high as you wish, but soon I shall have a taste of you, my little angel,” his thoughts penetrated in your head.

“What the—you fucking—”

The press conference grew in silence, cameras flashing. The crowd is in awe of your random reaction.

“Pardon me,” you uttered, cheeks reddened. “I’m still in quite state of shock since I have been taken to the hospital. Forgive me.”

“As the next president, what is your next move for the Aurora company?”

Several cameras clicked.

“Regarding to the AURORA company, nothing is set in stone. When the next project is ready, I’ll be the first person in the company to inform you and the media. That will be all.” Bowed, you stepped off the stage.

Your back inclined to a bow and left, leaving the press rowdy, bombarding you with questions, questions that involved and regarded to personal affairs with your ex-fiance and the CEO of EDEN company.

Meanwhile, Aemond’s mischievous smile grew, taking the scenery in.

And the only thing he could utter, within a crowded noise was—

“This…should be interesting.”

Tucking your rosy light-laced underwear in his pocket, saving his dessert for last as he watched you disappear through the doors.

~~~

“I want my underwear back, you asshole.” Stomping outside the AURORA building with heavy huff. Pink heels clicking the pavement as you went your way to the wide parking lot.

Aemond’s violet eye flickered. “Only if you say “please”.”

“Fuck no. Give it to me! What if I have blood on my thong, are you still going to play yourself?”

“A deal’s a deal, Miss President. Keep this up, you’ll get more scandal,” he reminded, his teeth gleamed.

“I thought you said you’re going to help me, not humiliate me. I almost cussed out to hundreds of paparazzis and reporters because of your perverted ass! Don’t tell me you also have my bra?” Pulling the fabric, you spotted your croquette lace bra shielded your chest beneath the pink office suit.

“This is rather fun. I’d rather have this, than a formal way of ending the conference. Dare, I must say you have an exquisite taste in wearing these contraptions you women covered your maidenhood.”

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

Aemond’s platinum hair swayed. “Your face is quite amusing. Don’t get yourself hurt, Miss President. Otherwise, you’ll get sick from your anger issues.”

Raising your fist, the mark on your wrist glowed. Bemused, Aemond clicked his tongue as he stopped your motion with his hand caught your marked wrist, his other hand—still holding your thong—his index finger swished, his tongue clicked. “Ah, ah, ah, that’s not how our deal supposed to go, little angel.”

“Go to—”

“Hell?” Aemond’s brow flicked. “But I’m already here.”

Then he released you; the mark went black as he successfully dodged your punch before giving him a menacing glare, marching down at the sports car.

As you went your back to the car—Vhagar—Aemond began with, “So, what are you going to do now, Miss President? Are you going to let yourself fall, or are you going to give them hell?”

You didn’t look at him in the eye. “I want to go back to my apartment and rest. And don’t you dare talk inside my head! It’s creepy enough as it is. It makes me think you’re Voldemort instead of Prince Aemond of House Targaryen.”

His brow flicked. “Who’s Voldemort?”

“Your twin!”

“I don’t have a twin. Besides, I’d rather be the eldest child in the family.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, just take me back to my apartment.”

Aemond hummed. “As you wish, Miss President. When an angel is there, a devil also is present. Never forget.”

“Never forget also the you’re my bitch.”

“On the contrary, my dear,” he sneered. “A Devil is no slave to anyone.”

“And I’m an Heiress to the AURORA company. Therefore you’re my bitch—Heiress’s Bitch.”

Huffing, both you and Aemond then mounted inside the sports vehicle, Aemond geared his shift and stirred the wheel to a sharp turn, maneuvering right then swerved on the road.

A first step to hell has commenced.

Taglist: @daonenonlysandman @toodlesxcuddles @kittendoll05 @omgsuperstarg @xcharlottemikaelsonx @paninisstuff @danika1994 @angeljcca @marvelescvpe @kukulyarva @namelesslosers @heavenly1927 @snh96 @herathedreamer @fandom-maniac-anime @httpsmenace @velunis @nananeptune @domithebomi @moonseye @valeskafics @faesspace @rxixo31 @tm-starr @xinthia19 @popsycles @naiaaramena @aleemendoza2425-blog @letmehavemyfictionalmen @ammo23 @blackswxnn @buccini555 @watercolorskyy @taangie @wolfdressedinlace @qardasngan @justyelena @jolixtreesunn @runekisses @jmii722 @remuslupinwife1 @evergreen9083 @foggypeacestarlight @dixie-elocin @galactict3a @momowhoo @saturnssrings @dani5216 @laureeedn @mylosz0

[ultralightpoe]

Final Girl Part 3 -Eddie Munson

Authors Note: I wrote this awhile back, clearing out my drafts. Hope you enjoy !

Word Count:4822

Warnings: stabbing, hints of smut but not really.

Part One Here...... Part Two Here

(Thank you for the gif @feodor-dostoevsky)

Enjoy!

There was nothing ‘cool’ or ‘awesome’ about the movie Slashed anymore.

In fact as Eddie Munson sat between Dustin and Lucas while the film played on the tv before them he could barely stop the anger that coursed under his veins at every turn. That was you. This entire time his crush on the actress that played k/y/n had been a knockoff version of you.

He watches with his jaw clenched so hard his teeth begin to ache as the main character screams while the masked killer begins fighting to open the car door. The actress crawls along the console to get to the other window, and this part she rolls the window down but only half way so she could climb out. Her panties flash and the killer sinks his knife into the meat of her thighs. 

Eddie’s mind flares, the memory of the scar on your leg the day he brought you dinner, right fucking there. It had looked like a knife had slashed its way down your thigh and the scar itself was still brash against your skin. Bumpy and noticeable. And though he never thought anything bad of it before right now he hated the scar. He hated how you managed to get it and he hated that this movie would make a mockery out of you. Would make a mockery out of his girl. 

“What a bimbo!” Mike laughs out, shaking his head. “Open the door and run. Jesus this girl is stupid.” 

“Do you think the real girl was stupid enough to do-“ Will starts before Eddie snaps out “Shut. Up.” 

Steve, who was normally the first to tell one of them shut up in any given situation, looks over at Eddie with wide eyes and a shocked look. He mouths a “you okay?” and Eddie chooses to act like he hadn’t seen it because the truth was he wasn’t okay and everyone in this room knew something was off.

He had tried calling you numerous times, and had even stopped by your dorm more times than he could count. Desperate to see you, desperate to explain the shirt and explain that he had no idea what was going on. 

It didn’t take much to figure out what you had scrambled together that night. Everyone was talking about you, talking about the final girl on campus and dashing to get a picture and he had shown up wearing a shirt that had that stupid fucking mask on it and- Jesus just thinking about it had his heart lurching through his throat as he rubbed at his face aggressively. He hadn’t gotten much sleep since. 

Your roommate had explained that under the circumstances the school allowed you take finals early and head home for winter break, and Eddie was absolutely disgusted to realize that this was the first time he had ever seen a dash of excitement on your roommates face regarding you. Of course she would be the one to hate you until you because a popular name.  What a bit-

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” The lead actor in the movie wails out in pain, now fully unmasked and holding his side from where the actress had managed to stab him. 

All he could see was you, you covered in blood with tears streaming down your face. You limping from the injury on your leg as you circled around getting ready for the killers next attack. 

All he could see was you. 

He wanted to make it all go away, to be there and protect you from everything. Kiss away all the pain and hold you close enough that your bodies might as well morph together. He wanted you, and after weeks of not being near you he found that he couldn’t breathe or think straight. 

It was like someone had cut off his oxygen the second you dashed away from him. 

The main actor playing Billy begins taunting the actress- you- and laughing. Laughing on her pain and how he has used her just mere hours before and Eddie thinks he’s going to throw up. Heat flashes through him as a tight pain sears through his chest while he fights back the urge to puke, his hands raveling into tight fists. 

He used you. He used his girl. 

He had taken something from you that you would never get back and made it into a weapon. Blind rage fills his body as he gets up, angrily slamming the dial and turning the tv off before moving to the kitchen and beginning to angrily clean up everything they had used tonight. 

His body sings as he slams the pots and pans from dinner into the sink, each bang giving him a little sense of pleasure. The spoons follow next and more and more until he can finally start scrubbing them clean. Scrubbing inch by inch, getting every spec of something off the dishes as someone makes an appearance in the kitchen. 

He expects it to be Steve or Dustin, coming in to make some annoying remark on his attitude, so he chooses to stare at the fake tile the apartment manager had put up for his uncle when he was moved in. He stares and stares and stares, seeing the light from the kitchen flash from it. 

“Munson.” Eddie is shocked to hear a female voice, strong and i breaking rather than the voice of his 2 dumbass friends, whipping around to face none other than Nancy Wheeler. 

Eddie had been a little shocked when he saw her the first time tonight, because Nancy Wheeler looked different. From what Eddie could understand from her letters she had dropped both Steve and Jonathan and chose to move to college and build a better future and it showed. Her hair was perfectly done, she dressed in flattering outfits that fit her well and she stood a little taller. No more will they won’t they bullshit and Nancy was growing into the smartest person Eddie knew. She always had been but he would never admit that to her. 

“Wheeler.” He sighs back, casting his eyes back to the dishes before him. He didn’t want to talk about this, didn’t even know how he could explain any of it to her. 

“You know I love your letters, I’m glad you still write with me.” She smiles, moving closer. “But something has been off about your past letters.” 

“Oh yeah? You finally realize I’m illiterate?” 

“Close, but I’ve always known that.” She teases which forces a small smile on Eddie’s face as well. “You just seemed…. Happier. I was always worried about you in the beginning because of what you went through and your letters, although you tried to make it sound like you were having fun, you just seemed miserable. But then it changed, and you started writing about the pretty girl from your English class and the next thing I knew it was like your letters lit up.” 

His mouth goes dry, and he can’t pull himself together long enough to look at her. “I didn’t know you could tell.” 

“I knew you didn’t want me to know.” 

“What about it?” He finally asks. 

She doesn’t say anything for a minute, and he finally looks up at her to see that she’s pulling a newspaper from behind her back and setting it on the counter quickly. “I know the editor for your colleges newsletters.” 

There you were. After weeks of not seeing your face he feels the breath of fresh air, his lungs expanding as he snatches the paper to pull the photo of you smiling a little closer to him. Just like that he felt like he was in your dorm again, laying with you while you both laughed at something. Your roommate, or maybe your teachers accent, maybe the jock that works at your shared pizza spot and never seems to know what to say. 

It takes him a moment to drag his eyes away from the photo and read along the lines printed, seeing how they found out made his jaw clench one more time. An “anonymous source” recognized you from the newspaper and had to tell the world. Then the source explains that he also recognized that you were on a date with the ‘Metalhead that can never brush his hair’. Low blow. 

“You recognized me because the metal head comment?” 

“I recognized the girl you described. The metalhead comment just cemented my belief.”

“What about it?”

“Well I’m using my power of deduction to assume that something happened and you’re mad about the movie-“ A deep sigh falls from his lips before he nods and moves to face her fully. 

He explains what happened and Nancy is a great listener, and once he is done she merely nods before a smile breaks out across her face. “This is so perfect for you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean with everything that we went through and everything that you specifically went through we never find people that can handle our trauma-“

“Therapist Nancy is in the building.” 

“And this is a beautiful person that, although she doesn’t understand our trauma, understands trauma on her own and-“ She takes a deep breath in before looking at him with such excitement it made his stomach ache. “You just seem so much better, you seem happier. I haven’t seen you rub your side once.” 

His heart stops, ringed hand rushing up to rub his side, rubbing slow soft circles as he did so. She was right, since Eddie had been thinking about you so much he hadn’t had time to think about his side. Now that she’s mentioned it he can feel the full ache there, pulsing under his skin like another heartbeat.

“I just don’t know how to explain it. You know? To make her believe me.” 

“You’ve been collecting outcasts and misfits for as long as I can remember. You have the weirdest way of making the most shut down people I know break out of their shell. You will be just fine.” She smiles, leaning forward to kiss his cheek before heading back out to where the rest of the group had chosen to hide out and let him finish the dishes in silence. 

By the time he makes it back out to sit with them they are watching a comedy movie Steve had chosen, and Dustin is staring at Eddie with a highly confused look. But Eddie just attempts a smile at him, staring at the screen to ignore the rest of the world. 

- 

The rest of the break was spent catching up with Wayne and helping his uncle out with anything he needed, and when Eddie told him he would be going back a week early Wayne made sure he had everything he needed and the two parted ways with a tight hug before Eddie began his trip back. 

But there was one stop he had to make first, and his chest was tight just at the thought of it. 

He had one newspaper clipping, back from when he himself had been in the hospital, he had found it in a book Wayne had been reading then. It was folded up and used as a bookmark, half the words ineligible from the time used but he could still make out the town he needed from it. 

So he packed it all up, got directions and drove to find you. 

You had always told him stories about the town you grew up in, but he had never connected the dots, now as he drove past the welcoming signs it finally settled in. The diner your parents always took you to was right there. The school you went to was 3 blocks away. The cabin that changed your life, as he understood it, was an hour just into the woods. 

This was your town. 

His chest ached for Hawkins, a town he hadn’t seen in years since they moved him and his uncle away. Even spending winter break with his friends meant they had to go to a new town so no one would spot him. 

He had hated Hawkins, but that was his home. 

He stops at a red light, skin itching with excitement at the possibility of seeing you.  Even if you turned him away he would be able to spot you for just a second. That would make him feel better. 

A honk pulls his attention, making him defensive as he sits up, looking to see where it came from and finding quite the angry scene unfolding before him. A pedestrian had been walking and a car had honked, the two now sat cursing eachother out. Eddie watched, stuck due to the light, and turned his music down to concentrate more as he watched one of them slam his hand on the hood of the car in anger. There was something utterly familiar about him, one that he just couldn’t put his finger on. 

Before he think about it too much the light turned green and he drove off, casting one last look on their direction before he pulled over and asked for directions to your place. 

For a town known for a murder spree peopke seemed just fine handing out personal information and Eddie tried not to get too irritated or protective at that fact. Instead he drove slowly, trying to remember if the older gentleman had said red brick or 2 houses down from the red brick. 

He got his answer when he made it to the street, seeing a news van outside the red brick house as someone filmed in front of it. He parked, hopping out of his car and heading up, keeping his face turned away from the news caster as he knocked on the door softly. 

There was no answer and Eddie was beginning to believe his plan was useless and stupid. What are the chances that you are home right now? And what are the chances you would answer the door to him?

He knocks a second time anyways, heat traveling his skin in embarrassment at this whole idea when suddenly the door opens. It’s the smallest amount, but he recognizes your eyes immediately. They seem to narrow in on him and he finds himself holding his hands out in a surrender motion with a small smile. “I was hoping to explain myself.” 

“I don’t want to deal with some crazy stalker-“ you snap out, moving to close the door quickly before his hand is being shoved between so you can’t. It hits him and he gasps out in pain which makes you remove the pressure with a gasp of your own. “Are you crazy?! I could have broken your hand!” 

“I’m not a crazy stalker, I had no clue. Please just give me a moment to explain.” He sighs, “it’s not what it seems.” 

You both seem to have caught the news anchors attention, risking a side glance to where she is now standing and blinking slowly at you both. He stares back, giving her his best mean mug before he feels your hand snatch the front of his leather jacket and drag him in quickly. 

He trips over his own feet, reaching a hand up to grab your arm to stablize himself as you glare and shut the door. 

“I don’t recommend getting into with her, she will blast your ass across the news networks.” 

“The government would make her take it all down. I’m not really worried.” It’s meant to be a joke, something to ease the tension as you rubs soft circles on your arm, but you merely glare at him and he knows you didn’t get it. But his main concern is the bags under your tear stained eyes. “Have you been crying? When’s the last time you slept?” 

His hands fly to cradle your chin, rubbing soft circles on the skin, his rings glinting in the light of your living room. You seem to melt into his touch and he finds himself truly happy at the thought, moving closer to you. 

“I should be the one asking you that.” You snap, staring at his own bags. “You look like hell.” 

“I haven’t been sleeping. I’ve been caught up thinking about you and-“ 

“I know you didn’t know.” You blurt , cutting him off. “I know it, and part of me knew it then but I was panicked and embarrassed and I can’t believe I hit you. I….. oh my god I hit you in front of everyone and you-“

“I’m not mad. It’s not the first time I’ve been hit and I enjoyed the sting. Warmed my cheek up a little.” He teases and you shake your head. 

“Eddie. No. That wasn’t okay and I can’t believe I did that. You gotta know that I’m bad news, okay? You’re better off without me.” You rush out, head snapping a bit when you hear the news reporter speaking closer than she was before. He watches as you rush to lock the door before coming back to him and holding out a hand for him to grab, he takes it quickly and lets you lead him up the stairs. He can’t decide between staring at you and your beauty or admiring the house you grew up in. You decide for him when you lead him into a room and shut the door. 

“Sorry. They have the habit to peer through windows.” You explain, blushing bad as he scoffs. 

“They really do that? Fucking lunatics.” 

“Everyone wants to know the girl that-“ you cut yourself off, shaking your head. “You probably have questions. Ask away, ask anything. I owe you that.” 

His chest tightens painfully and his jaw clenches at your words, choosing to look around your room because he was too afraid to look you in the eyes. This entire room felt wrong, it didn’t feel like you….. well maybe a past version of yourself. One he hadn’t met, still happy and innocent in the world. Like your past had been frozen in place. 

He had his own version of this, his own room would have been stuck in the past if the police hadn’t snatched everything of his since it was a crime scene. 

“You don’t owe me anything.” He bites out. “Ever. I want you to open up to me when you’re ready, not because you feel guilty for something. If you’re in danger, on the other hand, then yes you need to tell me.” 

Still refusing to look at you as he runs his fingers over all your garments in the closet before walking by your desk and doing the same there. Humming a little when he sees a picture of you cheek to cheek with a cheerleader, both of you smiling ear to ear. 

“Mila.”

“Maya, actually.” You sigh. “Her name was Maya.” 

Nodding slowly, his stomach clenching in pain at your time as he turns to sit on your bed, finally facing you. 

“I have many many questions. But you do not owe me answers.”

“I want to answer them.” You smile slightly, walking forward ever so slowly. “Not because I owe you, I want a clean slate with you. You know all my secrets and I get to be myself.”

His hands reach out to grab your hips, pulling you softly into his hold as he peers up at you with his heart hammering through his chest. You peer down at him, obviously a little worried and he wants nothing more than to wipe that look off your face. 

“How about I go first?” He whispers, relieved when he sees the worry replace itself with confusion. Smiling from ear to ear as he slowly slides the leather jacket off before reaching down to pull his hellfire shirt over his head. His scars pull a bit as he reaches to do so, and the second the fabric is off him he watches your face intently, looking for any shred of disgust. 

He finds none, only a look of devastation as you reach slowly to rub your thumb along one. “Fire?” 

“No. Bats.” He smiles. 

“Bats?!”

“Bats.” 

“Bats?” 

“Yup..” 

“Like the Halloween version of birds?” 

“Weird way to describe them but I’ll allow it.” He scoffs, watching as you let your thumb follow the ridge of it. He doesn’t want to think about how soft your skin feels, or how gentle your being. 

“How do you get attacked by bats, plural and not just one?” You whisper, allowing him to reach up and pull you in by your hips until both your thighs were on either side of his, allowing you to straddle him. 

“It’s a long story. One that I really don’t think you’ll believe but I brought proof.” He mumbles, nose nudging your jaw. “And I’m hoping you’ll believe me.” 

-

The proof, which had been the tooth of a demobat, you had gotten freaked out and demanded he put it away which had made him laugh and shove it back in the pocket of his jeans. You spent the next hour asking him question after question, taking 5 minute breaks to kiss along his face whenever you thought his answer was painful. 

Finally it went back to you, and as much as he loved sharing the secret with you, Eddie found himself grateful that the pressure was off of him. He hated talking about it all. 

But now you were explaining your side of things, and he found that he truly didn’t feel much better as you went through the events of the night. 

You explained that you hadn’t slept with him that night but you had in the past, explaining how you had separated from Maya and the rest of the party because Billy had pulled you away to argue about your relationship. 

While you had been arguing with Billy his friend Stu had been killing people downstairs, your friends Maya and Paul included. 

He listened closely as you described seeing the mask for the first time and the terrifying dash for your life you had made, jumping off the roof to avoid him. How you tried the van to see if you could drive away, but another figure had found you and you were doing your best to escape over the console when he slashed your thigh but you still managed to get out of the car through the door. The final fight with them where you received the scar along your arm and your abdomen. You described finding Randy in the bushes as you waited outside man’s held onto his stab wound until the police arrived. At that point in the night you had been fully covered in blood, yours and your friends and the killers. The police had mistaken you and put you in handcuffs first while the paramedics were trying to rush you to the hospital. They only released you once they got Kelvins and Randy’s story. 

“I thought there had been four survivors?” 

“There was five of you include Gale and Dewey. She was a news anchor and he was the deputy of the time.” 

“And Kelvin was the one that sold the story? Wasn’t he dating Maya?” 

“Yes to both.” 

“Does that make you mad?” He whispers, tensing a bit when you begin caressing his side once more, letting your finger feel his scar like you were amazed by it. He fights the urge to bring a hand up and cover it, embarrassment clinging to him like dust to wet paint. 

“I try to think about it from his point of view…..” you start, your voice nothing but a whisper as your nose nearly touches his. From right here he can smell the your perfume perfectly, his thighs tensing as he feels his jeans tighten. “And then I always relent to anger, because he’s never tried to see it from my point of view and I’m the one that saved him.” 

Your finger slides from his scar up to his chest, rubbing at the collarbone there. “Do you ever get mad about it all?” 

“All the time. I think anger is the only thing that keeps me going sometimes” he admits, loving the way excitement sparks in your eyes. 

“You don’t think I’m a bad person for wanting to crack Kelvins nose in?” 

“Baby, I want to and I’m not even involved,” he laughs and before he knows it you are dragging him in for a heavy kiss, your hands woven in his hair as he moans a little into your mouth. 

“I want you.” You breathe out when you break from the kiss, moving off him a little to give him room to crawl back as you push him back slightly. 

He does what you want, smiling up at you as you tear off your shirt. 

“You sure?”

“Never been more sure about anything.” 

-

“This is so stupid.” Savannah Stevens snaps, slamming her car door and moving to the trunk to snatch the overpacked suitcase she took home for winter break. 

Arriving back to school a week early was absolutely dreadful, and not something she ever planned on doing. None of the other girls would be coming back until Friday which meant it would just be her and the freaky girl Lindsay who barely ever spoke. To nervous to make eye contact but her mom was a pledge so she got an easy way in. 

Savannah would be enjoying a nice hot dinner with her family right about now if her teacher hadn’t emailed her about a missing project that was worth 70 percent of her grade that semester. So she was forced to drive back to school and get it in before the new semester started. How lame. 

There was a million other things she’d rather be doing right now, and as she struggled to find the key to the sorority house she chose to try and forget about them. 

Frustration knaws at her as she cannot find the key, twisting the handle in a lame attempt to open it but shocked to find that it slides open easily. “Wow Lindsay.”

Nevermind people breaking in, Lindsay would just let them walk in, but the anger disappears when the warmth of the building engulfs her and she sighs in relief, stripping the jacket off and throwing it on the chair beside the door telling herself she would pick it up soon. 

“LINDSAY?!” She calls, looking around at all the lights that had been turned on in the home. Brittany was going to lose her shit at the electric bill. “LINDSAY!”

When she gets no answer she rolls her eyes, turning to lock the door before walking through and turning the lights off as she made her way to the room. 

Just as her hand hits the handle there is a shrill ring that breaks through the house, making her jump and turn to where one of the many landlines sat. “Swear to god if that’s Amy’s weird boyfriend….”

She picks it up anyways, sighing out as she answers “Hello?” 

“Hello….”

“Yes. Hello. How can I help you?”

“I was looking for someone.” The voice drawls out, slow and saccharine. “Think you might be able to help me?” 

“Who are you looking for?”

“Well that depends… do you think-“ 

“If you’re calling for your girlfriend she’s not here.” Savannah snaps, shaking her head. “Leave a name and I’ll write your message down.” 

“It’s Paul….” 

“Okay Paul,” she sighs. “Wait…. Like? Paul from English class? This is Savannah!” 

“You mean the cheerleader that sits in the front row?” 

“Yes, oh my god hi. I was actually scared for a second?” she laughs, hand falling on her chest as she breathed out. “Who are you calling for?” 

“You,” 

“Oh haha.” She giggles. “You calling for Lindsay?” 

“I’m calling for you.” The voice says, more serious. “Think you have a moment to talk? Or should you go and close the front door?” 

“What do you me-“ she begins to ask, walking to the staircase and stopping short when she sees the door that she locked wide open.

“What the fuck- how did- where the fuck are you Paul?” She snaps, instantly on edge as she whirls around to check around her. “This isn’t fucking funny.”

“What’s not funny about it?” 

“You think this is a fucking joke?! Huh?! I’ll tell Munson, and L/N. Yeah I’m their friend so why don’t you back the fuck off you freak!” 

“Munson huh? And just who is this Munson?”

“You need to BACK OFF!” She screams, dashing back down the hallway and looking for a spot to hide. “I’ll call the police and-“ 

Then he was there, in front of her, peering down at her through the mask. A loud scream tears it’s way out of her mouth as the assailant grabs her, plunging his knife deep into her abdomen. 

“I asked what was so funny?”

(Yeahhhhhh. Who do you think is the new ghostface? Scream 2 babiessssss. Once again I wrote this series awhile ago and just never published it.)

(Scream will not be the same without Melissa and Jenna, I will no longer be watching and as much as I love the series I urge anyone to stop streaming it for the time being.)

TAGLIST:: (Tell me if you want removed <3)

@cryingglightningg @maxstecc @hookergutss @sunshinepeachx @random000000sblog @fried-peaches00

[j0kers-light]

hey!! Now that your requests are open again, I take the opportunity to request this.

What would it be like if reader practiced karate? cause I've been practicing it since I was 6 years old.

Hope you're having a happy holiday <3

Hey hi and hello anon!! 🖤✨

Karate!reader? Mmm I had to do some research on this one lol. Thank you for waiting too! Mad respect for you practicing the art for all these years! Happy late holidays to you beloved, I hope you enjoy! 😘

You live in Gotham City, self defense is a requirement and you took up karate ever since you were six.

Better safe than sorry and your parents definetely gotten their money back with all the defending you've down over the years.

You proudly mention you have a black belt whenever someone messes/looks at you a certain way. You're not a pushover.

Karate isn't just about self defense, it focuses on the discipline and beauty of martial arts. You are one with your mind and body through hard work and perseverance.

Enter Joker. Sure he has a high tolerance to pain, but he was not expecting you to put up much of a fight.

You're walking down the street with a tote bag and a to-go coffee cup. Get real 🙄 you are no threat to him.

You happen to be at the wrong place at the wrong time late at night and you caught Joker's eye. Easy prey. Taunt you a bit, have a little fun (his sick twisted version of it) and he'll be on his merry way.

Joker should have seen how calm you were in the face of danger as a warning. You just sipped your coffee as he took out his knife.

In your mind, you're already thinking of four different ways to block his inevitable attack. He was light work but you rather let him assume you were defenseless than give away your skill.

Everyone always thought you were weak until they got a taste of the ground.

"Well hellooooooo gorgeous."

Your eyes flickered towards the catcall, before you rolled them. You just wanted to grab a cup of java and head back to your flat, not get harassed on the streets.

You really should consider moving somewhere safer.

But back to reality. The voice came from everywhere until a streetlight shined down on clown makeup and dyed hair. The Joker.

Any other citizen would scream bloody murder and run for the hills— you however just sighed and patiently waited for his next move. You left Netflix on at home and its the season finale of your fav show. You did not have time for this.

Why is he taking so long? You thought.

Why isn't she terrified? Joker pondered.

He was curious as to why you looked more annoyed than scared but didn't let it bother him. He played with his army knife and skipped closer but the hot liquid from your cup burnt his forearms when you tossed it out like a shield.

He hissed and you didn’t waste a second.

You deflected the approaching knife with your upturned wrist. It fell to the ground with a loud clank. Joker blinked at the ease you disarmed him but you weren’t done.

The heel of your foot shoot out and kicked Joker in the throat. Just like you expected, he clutched his neck gagging and you finished him off with a powerful kick to his center, knocking him down onto the pavement.

Your tote bag barely moved off your shoulder. Not a hair out of place.

You took down The Joker and didn't break a sweat. Robin would faint in awe. Batman would hire you on the spot. You simply mourned your spilt coffee.

"Dang it, I really wanted that." You sighed before resuming your walk back to your apartment.

Joker was speechless. You took him out in less than three minutes! Oh he was impressed, maybe a little intimidated. Was he.. turned on?

Yeah that. Definitely that. Joker watched you turn the corner and out of his sight all with a dopey smile on his face.

"What a lady.."

[buckgasms]

Imagine: you trying to make a gift for lumberjack! Bucky in his workshop but end up hurting yourself🥺 Bucky would be so worried but so touched

Thank you darling Nonnie, I love this 🩵 This is just adorable because they are a very cute couple and this is absolutely how I imagine them both to be!

You've seen Bucky whittle a thousand times when you've been sat by the fire reading and you've told him to keep his hands busy while you finish your chapter.

So how can it be so difficult to make a stupid little wooden version of his beloved dog Ajax? Its four legs, a tail and a cute little face! You have a block of wood, which after three hours now resembles a slightly smaller, hacked bit of wood with a sort of weird nose shape. Your curse at it as the real Ajax stares at you with puzzlement and wags his tail when you hold up the wood for a comparison.

"This sucks doesn't it?" You ask him and he barks, sticking out his tongue in a way that you feel sympathises with your predicament. You huff and try again, but the knife slips and cuts a slice in your finger. You let out a scream and drop everything, blood going everywhere in the process.

"Oh no, no, no" you panic and grab your finger, running to the kitchen and grabbing a towel and holding it to your throbbing finger.

At that moment, Bucky comes trudging through the door and sees you, panicked and pale. He drops everything and rushes over taking the towel from your hand and inspecting the cut. "Baby what happened to you?" He asks, putting the towel back and walking you over to the table and sitting you down.

"Promise you won't laugh?" You ask, knowing full well he will. He sits down with his first aid kit and and pulls your hand into his. "Hit me sweetness" he says as he prepares to save you from near death.

"I was whittling"

On cue he bursts out laughing as your free hand is free to swat his shaking shoulder. "I was making something for you! You shouldn't be laughing!"

He manages to calm down enough to return to his duties of helping you and smiles. He gets his big plasters and iodine spray which fills you with dread. "Can you talk about something because I'm scared..."

He stops and kisses your other hand and winks at you. "Alright baby, lemme tell you about this dumbass I had to interview today..."

He talks about his day, makes you giggle and even when it hurts he's gentle and soft with you. You don't want to cry but you do a little bit because it is quite painful but you feel better when he finishes and kisses your tears away.

You huff out a sigh and lean back on the chair observing his handiwork and smiling. "Sorry to cause a disaster as soon as you get it" you say standing up and wrapping your arms around him and kissing his cheek.

You sort out dinner and after eating you head into the living room and find your block of offensive wood.

"Hey it's not so bad. It's gonna make a nice little duck!" You grab it from him and wave it, "it's supposed to be Ajax!" You cry and chuck it back on the table as he laughs again, pulling you to sit on his lap and kiss you, an amused smile still present on his lips. "Oh yeah, I see it now."

"Shut up Lumberjack" you grumble as he chuckles and peppers you with more kisses. Maybe you don't need to whittle anyway, there's more fun things to do with him that muck around with wood.

[amemenojaku]

quick write-up on Q by Diao Ye Zong after a full listen of the album + the bonus content

(spoilers: it's really good. buy it)

I've skipped some of DYZ's releases in the last few years like Shirushi/Mukui/Atsume out of lack of interest, so it's very possible that I missed a hidden gem, but anyway I think Q is their best recent work. It's as good as Hohuri or △ imo (and Hohuri is like. my favorite DYZ and favorite doujin music album overall so.)

Agatha ChrisQ suddenly and completely disappears, shrouded in as much mystery as when she started releasing novels. The narrator sets out in search of the truth through 6 of ChrisQ's unpublished murder mysteries, each a reflection of their writer's feelings.

Q is a seed // Q is an outcome - Waiting to germinate into fantasy // Imposing the results of your ego on all.

It is, of course, a must-listen (or must-experience, rather, since it's not limited to music) for any Akyuu fan, but I'd also recommend it to fans of DiPP, Umineko specifically but mystery novels in general, and interactive fiction (there's branching endings). Oh and yuri. Akyuu/Kosuzu has been a fairly recurring pair in DYZ works (I can think of at least 5 songs off the top of my head, that's recurring to me lol) and this is no exception.

The album is gorgeous, jewel case and booklet and everything, all B&W with beautiful arabesques and elegant lettering and the occasional lines written in red. Hanadahyou's art is even more gorgeous than usual in the lyrics booklet (and if you've ever looked at a DYZ album you know the booklet is part of the experience)!! I love the small detail of the page with Akyuu's portrait, not the one with ChrisQ's, touching the page with the picture of Kosuzu and Akyuu as children...

The tracks are very good, pleasant to listen to from beginning to end (in my case there's just one I have a problem with because of the singer's voice... T_T lol). If I had to pick just one it'd be the Kosuzu song, Imaginary Friend (spoilers in the translator's notes), obviously everything in it makes me want to cry and scream and bash my head into a wall but ESPECIALLY the line where 'it was love at first sight' and 'I set upon you all my fantasies' are both said at the same time in the most beautiful wordplay I've seen in a while.. I also really like the Hieda servants' song (Murasaki Hotaru's voice <3) and the Reimu song is super fun (there is no way Reimu holding a knife next to Marisa's body in the booklet art isn't a nod to the reimari songs from Hohuri - and with the Birlstone Gambit theory referenced in the song itself, well...). But even then all the other tracks are interesting too. Very solid album.

And then there's the secret bonus content. I will only say that I love both choices very much but Imaginary Friend -> My Beloved Q did permanent damage to my heart <3 <3 <3 (suffering

ANYWAY, if any of this sounded intriguing to you then Q is absolutely worth the money! So go support the artists!! The regular version without the secret content will probably end up for free on spotify at some point (edit: it is now, including the last two secret tracks), but in my humble opinion it's one of those DYZ albums that are 1000% better if experienced with a real hardcopy of the CD because of how high-quality the product is, the gorgeous art, the bonus content etc... Personally I am never getting rid of my copy it's just SO beautiful.